


Along the Bending Path, Away

by Phantoms_and_Foxgloves



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 06, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angel Castiel, Angels are Dicks, BAMF Castiel, Case Fic, Dean Whump, Dean in Hell, Fix-It of Sorts, Guilty Dean, Heaven, Heaven vs Hell, Heaven's Civil War, Hell, Human Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Plot, Post-Season/Series 05 Finale, Pre-Men of Letters Bunker, Sam in Hell, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Slow Burn, Soulless Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2018-07-18 21:45:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7331716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phantoms_and_Foxgloves/pseuds/Phantoms_and_Foxgloves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was worse than the howling fury of the rack, this place. Worse than the shrieking pain, the endless cries of damned souls pleading for mercy they would not receive. It was worse than the blood smeared on his hands, seeping through his skin to stain his bones. Worse than the fire that peeled singed hide from flesh, the blades that cut down to the soul and stripped all that was human away.<br/>This was so much worse."</p><p>A canon-divergent AU taking place directly after the close of Season 5, this fic finds Dean trying and failing to keep his promise to Sam to live a normal, happy life with Lisa after watching his brother dive into the pit. Drowning in guilt and grief, Dean is struggling to find a way to keep going when one lands on his doorstep. Is Dean finally losing it, or could Sam really be wandering around topside?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So Much Worse

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic is a little late for a SixFix, I know, but I couldn't help it. While not the first fic I ever shared, chapter one of this work is the first bit of fanfic I ever wrote. 
> 
> Comments and criticisms welcome but please play nice. This IS a six-fix so if you aren't interested in backtracking that far this one might not be for you. I plan on posting one chapter every two weeks, since this is a much denser fic than I am used to. 
> 
> EDIT: Destiel is no longer a possibility, but a definite!  
> EDIT: Now beginning to repost edited chapters with an extra subplot added. I will try to flag out brand new chapters for those who don't want to reread. 
> 
> The title of the work is taken from Rufus Wainwright's "In a Graveyard”. Each chapter will have a recommended listening for readers, some of which will be related to chapter titles and some of which won’t. Before anyone catches it, many of these recs are specific covers I’ve chosen and not written by the artists I’ve noted. Pretty sure Dean would not approve of most of the song choices but Sam and Cas probably would so it’s alright. Enjoy and please leave feedback if you're so inclined!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening: Agnus Dei - Rufus Wainwright

It was worse than the howling fury of the rack, this place. Worse than the shrieking pain, the endless cries of damned souls pleading for mercy they would not receive. It was worse than the blood smeared on his hands, seeping through his skin to stain his bones. Worse than the fire that peeled singed hide from flesh, the blades that cut down to the soul and stripped all that was human away.

This was so much worse.

Darkness.

A cold, choking void that closed in on every side. He could feel it clinging to his being like wet fabric, sliding across the surface of his eyes, slithering into his ears and pressing up his nostrils to smother him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink, pinned in the frigid emptiness of eternity like an insect in a box. Utterly alone, his limbs useless, he could only wait for the crushing pressure of the darkness to obliterate him. His tongue was a lead weight in his mouth. He couldn’t even scream.

Dean’s eyes snapped open as his heart threatened to burst through his ribs. He could hear it thundering in his ears as he blinked furiously, trying to clear the lingering blackness of his dream. It took a few seconds for him to recognize the blank ceiling above him, its rice-paper lampshade familiar after the months he’d spent sleeping here.

Lisa’s.

He was in the guest room, the little double bed drenched in sweat and the pillow scrunched under his head like a rock. He drew in a shaky breath and ran his fingers over his face. He was no longer surprised to find it wet with tears. His sheets clung to his sweat-slicked skin and his whole body was wracked with shivers. His stomach twisted painfully as he sat up, clenching his teeth against urge to vomit. He stilled, breathing deeply through his nose until the urge calmed, leaving him weak and pained.

In the first few weeks after Sam had… left, Dean had been sick almost every night. Poor Lisa hadn’t asked questions, just brought him a glass of water and sometimes sat up with him when he couldn’t bear to close his eyes again.

He was trying. To be normal. To be real. To be part of the life Sam had wanted for him here with Lisa and Ben. But after the first month he had moved into the guest room, not wanting to keep Lisa awake night after night. The sight of her bruised, sleep-deprived eyes just added another layer of guilt to his overburdened mind. Lisa hadn’t commented on that either, nor had she lessened the easy, affectionate touches he had quickly come to depend on to keep him clinging to the edge of sanity. He swung his legs out from under the blankets and padded to the door, listening to see if his nightmares had disturbed her or Ben. It was quiet. He slipped into the hallway and headed for the bathroom.

In the harsh glare of the mirror lights he took in his own face, a gaunt parody of his former self. His skin was just as tan, his freckles still smattered across the bridge of his nose. There were a few more lines across his forehead, crinkling the edges of his eyes as he squinted at himself, but nothing out of the ordinary for a man in his early thirties. His hair hadn’t gone grey or fallen out despite the ungodly stress of the last few years. Still, there was no mistaking the change. Those green eyes, once so bright and quick, were leaden. Dead weights. Expressionless.

He smiled at himself experimentally, wincing as he saw the stranger in the mirror bare his teeth in a rictus grin. Not exactly the happy guy Sam had told him to be. He tried again, forcing his eyes to fold at the corners like they used to. Showed more teeth, cocked an eyebrow the way he had at a hundred waitresses and truck stop chicks. The result was only slightly less unsettling. It was like someone else was wearing his face, someone ancient and hopeless. Someone who had no clue how to work it.

He sighed and splashed cool water on his neck. It didn’t help much but it was something to do, a routine. Wake up. Don’t puke. Wash your face. Try again.

Glancing up at the clock above the toilet he grunted. Quarter to four. Too early to get up but he knew he wouldn’t sleep. Not with that darkness waiting for him every time he closed his eyes. God, it had been weeks since he’d managed more than a few hours at a time. He felt like he was fraying at the edges, like if he caught a hang-nail on something he’d just unravel in a heap of string and sorrow.

He hated it.

After rinsing the taste of stale terror out of his mouth and running a cool towel over his sweaty neck he made his way back to the guest room. Quietly shutting the door behind him, he took a moment to look over the space. It was nice. Pretty. Nicer than the rathole motels he’d spent too much of his life hiding out in. The bed was comfortable, a down comforter and soft pillows plusher than anything he’d ever had growing up. A few harmless watercolors framed on the walls spoke of Lisa’s touch. The deep, soft rug on the floor. A seemingly purposeless vase stood on the corner of the nightstand next to an oversized clock and a chair and footstool covered in flowery fabric.

It was just so damn pleasant.

Ignoring the wrecked bed, Dean pulled the little armchair close to the window, angling it so the sliver of light from the streetlamp fell across his lap.

“Grown-ass man and I’m scared of the dark.” He muttered ruefully, not really surprised that his voice sounded like it had been dragged over broken glass. “Always was, I guess.” He leaned his head back, watching the house across the street. Lisa’s neighborhood was nice. Quiet. The kind of place where kids played cops and robbers in the street on the weekend and neighbors said hello to each other in the mornings. A real little slice of heaven. Of course who the fuck knew what Heaven actually looked like but Dean was willing to bet his heaven would have included something like this, once upon a time. A nice yard. A grill on the back porch. Ben’s bike casually thrown alongside the driveway in his hurry to get inside for dinner. It was fucking perfect.

It made his teeth itch.

So here sat Dean, alone in his cozy plush box of a room unable to step far enough out of Hell to appreciate it. How could he? He knew where Sam was, what he was going through. Dean had spent 30 years on Alastair’s rack and even that would be a tropical vacation compared to the cage. And that was where his brother was now. Both his brothers. Adam too, poor dumb kid. Stuck in the pit with Lucifer himself and that colossal prick Michael, eternity stretched before them all with nothing better to do than dole out revenge.

And here was Dean sitting in his fucking flowered chair staring out at modern-day Mayberry.

He hung his head, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes hard. “I’m fucking trying.” He hissed. “I really am, Sammy.”

Just saying the name was enough to bring the tears again. For a while he could only sit there in the orange light letting them fall. He never seemed to stop crying these days. Usually he couldn’t even muster the energy to chastise himself for it. He managed to keep it private, though, locked away where Ben and Lisa didn’t have to see it. Except that one time a few months ago when Lisa had brought home a new shampoo. It was the same stupid girly crap Sam used to buy, with argan extracts and goji berries and some other shit Dean was pretty sure didn’t do a damn thing. He’d burst into blubbering tears at the sight of the bottle sitting there on the kitchen counter beside the rest of the groceries.

He’d found the full bottle in the outdoor trashcan the next day. Lisa hadn’t said a word.

Since then, though, he’d managed to wait until he was out of the room, to shut it off until he was alone. Just shut everything down. He was a broken son-of-a-bitch but he could at least keep that to himself.

Mostly.

“I’m a fucking wreck, hu Cas?” he whispered, a harsh wheeze serving in place of a laugh. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since Stull when he’d started praying again but it was only ever to Cas. He’d talked to Sam at first but the knowledge that his brother would never hear him was too wretched to bear. So he talked to the one person who might hear, might even give a shit if he did. The feathery bastard never answered. Probably too busy playing sheriff up in Heaven but Dean was almost thankful for that. He wouldn’t have been able to stand anyone seeing him like this. But Cas knew the whole story, the stuff Dean hadn’t dared to tell Lisa for fear of terrifying her beyond all sense. Even knowing the little bit of the occult she did the Winchesters’ lives were a pretty big pill to swallow. Or at least they had been. When there were Winchesters.

“Doing a bang-up job of keeping my promises, aren’t I?” he grated into the gloom. “Sitting in a guest room pretending not to cry. Playing mild-mannered house husband during the day and shaking like a fucking weepy leaf every time my head hits the pillow. Apple pie life my fucking ass. Still. Gotta do what Sammy wanted. Gotta be the good big brother.” He dug his fingernails hard into the meat of his thigh. “I sure as hell sucked at it when he was alive.” A sob burst from his chest, harsh and painful before he schooled himself, fists tightening over his knees. “Yeah, poor Dean, right? I’m the one that needs pity. He’s stuck in the pit with the dickiest angels to ever dick for the next chunk of forever but let’s focus on how miserable I am. God.” He pressed his hand over his mouth briefly to muffle the choked off sob of rage. After a few moments he was calm enough to go on.

“Could use some of that sense you tried to slap into me in that alley, Cas. Remember that?” his lip curled in a strange approximation of a smile. “Never saw you so pissed before.”

He lost himself in the memory, following it back and back over the past few years, back to Chicago. Back to Alliance. Back through Waterville and frigging Lawrence and all the way to the barn where they’d first met. Cas had been a scary mother back in the day. Probably was again. But those memories inevitably led to the others; Cas’s fall from grace, Dean’s own doing. Sam helping Cas into bed when he was too drunk to stand. Cas calling Sam an abomination. Sam ordering rabbit food for Cas in some shitty diner, telling Dean he was going to clog the angel’s arteries if he fed him one more burger. Back and back and back. All the way to the night he’d broken into Sam’s apartment at Stanford to steal his beer and beat the piss out of him in the dark. He could still see the gargantuan kid standing there, a bitchy frown pinching his face as Jess stepped up behind him.

Christ, Jess.

The poor girl was probably in Hell herself, trapped there by yellow-eyes when he burnt her to a crisp. Just another body and soul to add to the Winchester hitlist. Sam had always blamed himself for that but Dean knew better. It was Dean’s appearance in their lives that night that had changed things for them, his insistence that he needed his little brother with him to help find their dad. He had dragged Sam back into the life he had tried so hard to escape because he couldn’t stand being alone. If not for him and the plans of a few dick angels, Sam and Jess would probably be in their own little suburban heaven right now, a freakishly big toddler tearing up their lives and drooling on Sam’s shoulder.

The thought of it made Dean’s stomach ache so hard he wondered if maybe he would vomit after all.

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” He whispered, letting fresh tears flow, too miserable to try to stop them.

As they began to dry against his neck and his eyelids drooped with exhaustion he let his gaze wander out the window. A faint breeze stirred the short grass of the neighbors’ lawns, sending cascades of silver moonlight dancing across his vision. Slice of fucking heaven.

Just as his eyes were about to slide shut a movement outside caught his attention. For a moment he thought it was just one of the cats that prowled the street slinking into the halo of the streetlamp. But then his exhausted mind caught up to the fact that cats didn’t stand upright. Cats didn’t tower over six feet. And he’d never seen a cat with such a ridiculously girly haircut in his life.

He sat bolt upright, every nerve in his body blazing as he stared at the silhouette on the sidewalk below.

“Sammy.” He breathed.

It didn’t matter that it was impossible. It didn’t matter that whatever that thing standing in the street watching Lisa’s house was it could not possibly be his brother. It didn’t matter. Dean was up, tipping the chair over backwards and barrelling down the stairs, his heart beating a desperate tattoo for the second time that night. He threw open the front door, heedless of the salt line he sent spraying across the floor as he stumbled out into the night.

“Sam!”

He froze, the chill of the night air hitting his skin like a slap as he stared at the empty street.

Nobody.

Nothing.

There was no one here.

Of course there wasn’t.

He dropped his head into his hands. He had seen… but of course he hadn’t. Because that wasn’t fucking possible. He really was cracking up. Finally.

“Dean?” He turned to find Lisa in the doorway, a sleepy sort of alarm written on her face. One hand held the edges of her pale lavender robe together while the other held a gun. It was the little glock Dean had given her for her birthday, loaded with silver bullets tipped with devils traps. Because that’s the sort of thing a guy gets his maybe-girlfriend/landlady for her birthday, right?

“Sorry.” He croaked, turning to stumble back to the porch. “Sorry.”

She looked up at him, letting go of her robe to stroke his pale cheek. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Nightmare. Thought I saw…” he shook his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright.” She smiled, pulling him in for a gentle hug. He stiffened in her arms, feeling somehow wrong. She smelled like sleep and soap and comfort. Things Dean shouldn’t have. “Are you ok?”

“Let’s get back inside.” Dean muttered, stepping around her to pull her back into the safety of the entryway.

“Mom?” Dean winced as he saw Ben at the top of the stairs, a reprinted AC/DC t-shirt hanging from his pudgy shoulders and his eyes gummed with sleep.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.” Lisa assured him, hiding the gun behind her back. “Go back to bed. We didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Sorry, kid.” Dean apologized, screwing the closest thing he had to a smile in place. “False alarm.”

“Ok.” Ben shrugged, rubbing at his sleep-mussed hair as he tottered back towards his room. Dean heard the soft click of his bedroom door and let the smile drop.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lisa asked quietly, flicking the safety back on and dropping her gun on the table where she usually put her keys. Dean stared at it, at the death he had brought into her life. The death she had so casually accepted.

“No point.” He grated, shaking his shoulders as if that would clear all that had happened from his mind. “I was half asleep. Thought I saw something. Won’t happen again.”

Lisa sighed. “It’s alright, Dean. No harm done.” She smiled and patted his elbow. “Do you want a cup of tea or something?” Dean knew as well as she did that “or something” was the whiskey bottle hidden in the back of the cereal cupboard.

“Nah,” Dean shook his head and motioned to door. The booze just made it worse, made it easier to slip into the dreams of Hell, of Sam tearing his fingers bloody on the bars of the cage. “I’ll clean up this mess and redraw the salt-line. You should get back to sleep.”

Lisa looked at him for a moment, clearly wanting to say something more. Instead she nodded, taking her gun and retreating up the stairs, leaving Dean alone again. He let himself droop when he heard her bedroom door click shut and set about finding a broom.

He might be losing it, but he was checking all the wards again just in case.


	2. Going Strong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Dream On - Aerosmith
> 
> “Every time I look in the mirror  
> All these lines on my face getting clearer”

A week later and Dean was driving up the interstate in Lisa’s shitty little Toyota. It felt wrong. The cheap plastic wheel under his hands, the high, reedy whine of the engine, everything. But what about his life didn’t feel wrong these days? Standing in Lisa’s white and chrome kitchen with a towel over his shoulder and a rickety smile screwed on his face as he watched them eat a dinner he’d made felt wrong. Strolling behind her little lawnmower and waving casually to the neighbors when they popped over the fence felt wrong. These shitty nylon seats felt wrong. And the empty passenger’s seat sure as hell did.

The half-way point had been agreed on but now he was wishing he had insisted on driving the whole way. It would have at least bought him more time to get a hold of himself before he had to face the music.

“Too late now.” He muttered, taking the turn off to Madison, Wisconsin. The Biggerson’s sat on the outskirts of town just where the freeway came in from the south so it was easy enough for Dean to find. He pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine, gripping the steering wheel tight in the vain hope that it might somehow help him get a better grip on himself. He spotted a rusted-out pickup with a familiar red paint job and huffed.

Bobby was early, then. No surprise, there.

He slid from the car and rubbed his palms nervously on his shirt. He hadn’t seen Bobby since Stull, had barely been able to speak to him on the phone. He’d checked in dutifully once a month to let the old hunter know he was alive, lying about how great it was in Indiana and how happy he was with his new life. Bobby would talk about a car he was working on or the weather. They both knew it was a pile of horse-shit but they kept up the pretence, Bobby never mentioning his latest hunts or the news of strange goings on and Dean never mentioning the hole in his chest that just seemed to gape wider with every passing week. It was a good system.

But now Dean needed to talk to him. He needed to see his face as he told him that he was finally going off the deep end.

Setting his shoulders and giving the parking lot an instinctive sweep Dean limped into the restaurant, his legs stiff and sore from so many hours on the road. He still hated going out with only Ruby’s demon knife slipped into his belt but normal people didn’t carry a gun everywhere, not in Indiana. He ignored the dead-eyed stranger that stared back at him from the glass-walled entryway. He was getting used to not recognizing himself anymore. Itwas a cheery Sunday afternoon inside, families and birthday parties and dates. Dean felt unremarkable enough in his scuffed boots, worn jeans and a faded navy over-shirt. Nice and anonymous. No one would have picked this as the scene of a reunion between the Righteous Man Who Failed and a demon hunter returned from the dead.

He spotted Bobby at a booth in the far corner, his back predictably against a wall and a surly expression on his gruff face. Dean wondered idly how many weapons he had hidden on him today.He waved away the hostess, motioning to the empty side of Bobby’s table and getting a rosy smile in return. She was cute, he registered belatedly, and judging by the way her eyes raked him up and down she was up for a bit more than a beer. He wondered when the attractiveness of the waitresses stopped being the first thing he noticed about a place.

Probably somewhere after Hell.

He crossed the restaurant, feeling a strange tingling in his hands as he neared the table. He was nervous, he realized. Nervous to see the old hunter, to let Bobby see him. What was left of him, anyway. Bobby looked up, his hand sliding beneath the table top for a second before he registered Dean’s face. Dean tried to guess it if was holy water or a gun he was going for as he looked the old man over. Bobby hadn’t changed much. Not that he ever did. Still the crotchety old drunk on the outside, that steel-edged intellect carefully hidden behind his grumpy expression. Dean noticed with a spark of bizarre glee that he had moved the table’s salt shaker close to his right hand, no doubt ready to spray the first vengeful spirit that made an appearance.

“Heya, Bobby.” Dean croaked, trying desperately to force light into his face. Bobby stared at him, his eyes flinty and appraising in that way that had always made Dean twitch as a guilty kid. After a couple seconds Bobby shrugged and tossed a menu across the tabletop.

“You look like shit.” He declared, easing his hand out from under the table. “Sit down, boy, before you fall down.”

Dean snorted and sank into the booth. “You look good. I mean, for you.” Bobby shrugged, adjusting his cap and letting the conversation drop. They sat in a cricket-worthy silence for three solid minutes.

Team Free Will, going strong.

A grotesquely pimpled teen in a grease-stained apron appeared to take their order, his overly cheery sales pitch grating on what was left of Dean’s frayed nerves. They ordered quickly and dismissed him, just sitting until their beers came.

Dean downed half of his in one go. As he lowered the glass he cocked an eyebrow at Bobby’s sour expression. “Problem?” he challenged.

“Could be, if you let it.” Bobby nodded, sipping his own drink.

“You would know.” Dean spat, surprised at his own vitriol. It wasn’t an unfair warning and it was pretty dickish to dig at the old man about his tendency to drink under pressure. Most hunters did. Compared to some of the other guys his dad had hung out with Bobby was practically dry.

“Damn straight, kid.” Bobby snapped back. “And it might do you some good to listen, for once.”

Dean sighed and pushed the beer around the table with his knuckles. “I’m working on it.” He admitted.

Bobby nodded again, satisfied. “So what was so all-fired important that you had to have me drive halfway up the state to meet you at a Chucky Cheese?” he demanded. Small talk was out of the question, then. It was a relief, Dean realized. He was crap at small talk.

“I think I’m losing it.” He said without preamble.

“Suburbia getting under your skin?” Bobby chuckled mirthlessly. His eyes were sad as he looked Dean over again and Dean knew Bobby saw the stranger sitting there just as well as he could.

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged. “If one more asshole starts talking to me about the home-owners’ association ordinances on lawn ornaments I’m gonna skin them.”

Bobby snickered.

Dean leaned forward, clasping his hands tightly around his glass and staring a the bubbles, hoping maybe they could help him out of this. The condensation beaded and dripped down over his fingers and he watched for a bit, wondering how he could possibly phrase what was coming next. “I need you to tell me the truth, Bobby. Is there any way out of the cage?”

Bobby blinked, surprise quickly giving way to pity on his scruffy features. “Dean, we’ve been through this -“

Dean cut him off. “I’m not asking because I want to… I mean, of _course_ I want to, but that’s not…” he shook his head, taking another swig of beer. “I saw him, Bobby.”

Bobby went perfectly still, his eyebrows crawling up under the brim of his cap. “Saw who?”

“Sammy.” Dean stared at the table, unwilling to see the disbelief in Bobby’s eyes. He knew Sam was gone, that he wasn’t coming back. He’d told himself that a thousand times, the keys to the impala itching in his hand and everything he had in him screaming to make a deal, to figure it out, to go save Sam. But that night… He’d spent days reliving that moment, trying to pull every detail out of the sleep-fuzzed memory and find some clue as to what the hell that had been. He had been so sure, completely sure, that Sam was there. It wasn’t some weird grief hallucination. He’d had enough of those to know. He wasn’t stupid enough to hope, but he just couldn’t shake it off.

“I know what it sounds like, but I saw him.” Dean grated. “He was standing across the street from Lisa’s. Just watching.”

“Standing in the street.” Bobby repeated carefully, as though the wrong words might break Dean’s already fractured psyche.

“Damnit, Bobby!” Dean slammed a fist down on the table, startling the waiter.

“Two bacon cheeseburgers, medium rare.” The kid stammered, sliding the plates across the table and staring at Dean like he was a bomb about to go off. Dean bit his lip and glared out the window until the kid retreated.

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Bobby asked, smearing ketchup across his burger.

“Not hungry.” Dean grunted. He squished a fry between his fingers. Bobby looked even more alarmed at that.

“Dean,” He said gravely, setting his napkin aside, “Lucifer wore Sam down that hole and there ain’t nothin’ in Heaven or on Earth that coulda broken him out short of starting the damn apocalypse all over again. And I don’t know about you but I haven’t seen hide nor hair of demons topside since Feathers woke me up at Stull.”

“I know.” Dean nodded. “I know that. But I saw him.” He looked up at Bobby, pleading with him to believe. “So I gotta know. Is there any way out of the cage?”

Bobby sighed, puffing his bearded cheeks out the way he did when he was stumped. “You’re sure it was him?”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah, Bobby. I could practically hear the angry girl rock. It was Sam.”

“And you weren’t drinking?” Anyone else and Dean would have punched them. But with Bobby… he knew the old hunter knew him and knew loss well enough to ask that question.

Still, he glared. “Would I have dragged you all the way up here for a frigging figment of my imagination? I was stone cold sober. Hadn’t touched a drop in weeks. I know what I saw, Bobby. Sam is topside. Or someone’s running around with his face. Either way, I need to know why and how.”

Bobby shook his head and sat back, twitching his cap with one hand. “Wouldn’t be the first time one of you two turned up alive when you had no business to.” He allowed. “But Dean, if it really is him, that’s bad.”

“No shit, Bobby.” Good things didn’t happen to the Winchesters.

“If there’s a crack in the cage we’re right back to where we started, with angels and demons fighting their war on earth and mankind caught with his pants down.”

“So, what do we do?” Dean asked, picking sesame seeds off his bun and flicking them off the edge of the table.

“Hell if I know.” Bobby exclaimed. “I haven’t seen a single solitary sign that could point to Lucifer’s rising or Micheal breaking loose. It’s been quiet as a church-mouse since Stull. Biggest thing on my radar was a salt and burn outside Texarkana and that was weeks ago.”

“Oh yeah? Who took care of that one?” Dean couldn’t help the bubble of curiosity. He’d spent months trying to give a half a shit about investment portfolios and real estate values and he practically ached for an honest bit of work.

Chagrin passed over the old hunter’s face. “Sent Garth Fitzgerald after it. That kind of thing’s about all that boy can handle without getting himself killed.”

“Never met him.” Dean shrugged.

“He’s a good kid but he sure as hell ain’t no Winchester, I’ll tell you that.” Bobby grumped.

Dean wheezed a laugh. It was a hollow, rattling thing. “Neither are any of the Winchesters anymore, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Hmph.”

They sat for a while, just silent. Dean picked at his fries and Bobby chewed his burger thoughtfully. Dean tried hard not to feel the weight of the empty booth beside him, the hulking space that should have been filled.

“Have you thought about calling for a bit of outside intel?” Bobby asked after a bit.

“What do you think we’re doing here?” Dean replied, gesturing at the table.

“Not me, ya idgit.” Bobby snarked. “I mean _outside_ outside. Like upstairs.”

“Angels?” Dean asked, incredulous.

Bobby shrugged. “If Lucy were wearing Sam out for a Sunday stroll seems like they would be the first to hear about it.”

“And if it is Sammy they’d probably stick an angel blade through his heart first and ask questions later. Remember, he said yes before he jumped.”

Bobby fixed him with a glare. “And there aren’t any angels we know who might be willing to hear you out? Anyone who maybe helped you out once or twice in the past? Any blue-eyed bastards who brought me back from the dead and hold some sway upstairs now?”

“Cas?” Dean squirmed.

Bobby gave him his best “no shit” face. “Yeah, Dean. Cas. He’s gotta be our best bet.”

Dean hesitated, drawing his hands off the table into his lap. “I haven’t seen him since Stull.” He admitted. His voice was doing some weird quivery thing and he gripped his knee to ground it. “Dick didn’t even say goodbye. And I, uh… I was pretty raw. Didn’t really treat him too well on the way out. What makes you think he’ll answer me?” Bobby fixed him with an incredulous look. “Yeah ok.” Dean grumbled. They both knew that if he really needed him, Cas would be there in a wingbeat. Still, something in him was reluctant to call on the angel.

Dean drummed his fingers nervously on his thigh. “And what if it is Sam? What if he’s back and Cas decides he can’t be? He’s back to being one of the holy host now, and that usually means… you know. RoboCas. ”

“We’ll jump off that bridge when we come to it.” Bobby hedged. “But Dean, if it isn’t Sam we gotta gank the son of a bitch. Hell, we might have to even if it is.” The old man looked faintly sick at the idea.

Dean fought to control his breathing, his leg jangling restlessly beneath the table. “I don’t know if I can do that, Bobby.” He hated the heat in his skin, the tears welling up in his eyes. “Not again.”

“Well, you might have to.” Bobby said flatly. “Sam died to stop all this and if it’s started up again you’re gonna have to finish the job. It’s what he woulda wanted and you know it.”

A broken little chuckle forced its way past Dean’s teeth. “Not pulling any punches today, are you, you old bastard?”

“Cry me a river, kid.” Bobby smiled lopsidedly as he scratched beneath the brim of his hat. They settled back into silence as Bobby finished his meal, ordering another round for the two of them and slouching back against the booth.

“So tell me why you’re driving some Japanese piece of trash instead of American made?”

They chatted a bit, if haltingly. Dean told Bobby about his life with Lisa and Ben, trying and failing to sound like he was content. He told him about the part-time work he found at the garage and a particularly impressive vintage GTO he’d helped restore. He told him about helping out with Ben’s soccer team even though soccer was a sissy sport. He didn’t mention that he’d been sleeping in the guest room or sitting awake in it when the nightmares made sleep unreachable. He skipped over the fact that he twitched whenever a car backfired or a stranger held eye contact for just a beat too long. Bobby didn’t comment, just listened and occasionally told him about something particularly stupid Dean had done when he was Ben’s age. Not one story involved Sam.

When the time came for them to say their goodbyes they shuffled out to the parking lot. Dean felt his eyes grow misty as he scuffed his boot in the dirt by Bobby’s truck.

“All those years with him being the girly one and here I am tearing up over a goddamn lunch date.” He joked, digging his hands into his pockets. He rocked back and forth on his heels, glancing up at the setting sun to try and force the tears back down. They’d wasted a whole afternoon somehow. Suddenly the drive back to Indiana seemed a hell of a lot longer than the drive down.

“Yeah, well. Once you get your curlers in tonight don’t forget to call Cas.” Bobby warned, “I’ll be combing my networks for any signs that something hinky’s going on. No matter what this is we gotta get a handle on it. Fast.”

“Right.” Dean nodded. “Good to see you, Bobby.”

Bobby smiled, a watery twinkle in his eye as he clapped a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You too, son.” He pulled Dean in for a fierce hug. Bobby smelled like motor oil and whiskey, dust and books. It was familiar and heartbreaking and Dean might have held on just a bit longer than necessary.

With a sharp pound on the back Dean released the old man and stepped away. “I’ll let you know what Cas says.”

“Good. Take care of yourself, kid.”

“Sure thing, Bobby.” Dean lied.

He stood watching as the old hunter climbed into the cab and drove away, the bed of his pickup rattling up a cloud of dust. When he was out of sight Dean turned back to Lisa’s car with a sigh. It was going to be a long drive back to Lisa’s.

He was on the road for nearly an hour before the sun had finally set, leaving a bluish stain across the horizon behind him. Exiting the highway, he pulled off in a little stretch of nowhere to find an old access road where he could roll into the trees. He killed the engine and climbed out of the car to lean against the hood.

The scent of wet leaves and dirt stirred up under his boots and Dean took a moment to breathe it in. He could see a thick band of stars through the branches above him and he wondered idly if any of them were folks he knew. He laughed at himself, digging his toe into the dirt. No one the Winchesters knew got stars, in the end. Just another corner of the pit to call their own.

This had always been awkward. It was going to be even worse now. He’d never expected to see Cas again. Not really. His late-night confessions whispered on the edge of tears had been a very one-way exchange. Not the sort of thing you really want to talk about face to face. At least he didn’t. Maybe that was most prayers, not just his. Maybe people only talked to God so that they could get out all the horrible, weak, dirty shit they couldn’t tell anyone else.

That was a thought.

But Bobby was right. If anyone had the juice to get to the bottom of this quickly it was an angel, and Cas was just about the only friendly one they’d ever met.

Beyond the haze of embarrassment locked in his chest he felt a tendril of worry. Cas had been gone a long time and in Dean’s experience Cas’s trips to Heaven tended to turn him back into the soulless ken-doll he'd first met in that barn. The one that didn’t blink when Dean called him a monster. The one that made him watch his grandfather die to prove a point. The one that was willing to wipe out a whole town on Daddy’s orders. Part of him said it was stupid, that they’d been through too much shit together for Heaven to get its hooks back in Cas. But a smaller, weaker part couldn’t help the fear that one more thing might be taken away from him.

Well.

With a heavy sigh Dean straightened, spreading his arms and opening his palms in the vaguely supplicatory way that felt the least ridiculous. “Castiel? You out there, man?” he muttered, closing his eyes. “Cas, I need you to put your ears on.” Bats chirped from the darkness above him and Dean dropped his arms. “Look, I’m not just talking to hear myself this time. I need you down here. Something’s going on. Something bad, man. I need your help.” Silence. Bastard was going to make him beg.

“Please, Cas?” Dean watched the silver flash of leaves in the starlight, listened to the cars on the highway rumbling by. Nothing. He sighed again, leaning back against the bumper and clasping his hands in his lap. Served him right, really. Cas was a freaking angel again, not his personal get out of jail free card. It was about time he-

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean felt the air leave him in a rush at the sound of that gravel and sea glass voice on the other side of the road. He turned, a real smile lighting his face for the first time in months as he took in the familiar trench coat, the skewed tie, the uncomfortable stare that seemed to go straight to his soul.

“Hey, Cas."


	3. For My Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Be - Alain de Courtenay
> 
> “Needin’  
> A little bit of your healing  
> Because I’m breathing  
> Like I’ve only got a breath to go.”

Dean pushed off the hood, marching forward to pull Cas into a hug that might have crushed the bones of lesser beings. The angel smelled like lightning and silver and Dean hadn’t felt so happy in months. “Good to see you, man.” He muttered into Cas’s shoulder.

“And you, Dean.” Cas agreed, his arms held limp at his sides as though he didn’t understand how hugs worked. It was so achingly Cas that Dean fought the urge to shake him. “Although I had resolved to honor Sam’s wishes for you, and stop interfering in your life.” Dean thumped him on the back and let out a crippled laugh.

“Angels and apple pie don’t mix, hu?” he said, releasing his friend and taking a step back. “Figures. How goes things upstairs? Are you still kicking ass and taking names?”

Castiel looked puzzled, unfamiliar with Dean’s phrasing. “It is still a bit chaotic.” He admitted. “God has yet to reveal himself and without Michael the host is in disarray. Factions have formed in support of a few of the other angels but no one has managed to find a stable enough position from which to command us all yet.”

Dean leaned back against the passenger-side door, considering. He folded his arms to keep from giving in to the urge to grasp Cas by the shoulders and hang on. “Who was next in line behind Michael? Douchebag numero dos?” he asked instead.

“As the last remaining archangel, that would be Raphael.” Can said with a frown.

Oh. Dean remembered Raphael. “The dick with the lightning wings? Chuck’s personal bouncer?”

“That’s him.” Cas nodded. “Chuck Shurley has been missing since Stull, leaving Raphael free to consolidate his support among the host. There are some among us that believe Raphael has secreted him away in order to prevent him revealing the true word of God, the name of Heaven’s next commander.”

“But you don’t believe that.” Dean guessed. He didn’t really believe it himself. Raphael had been a douche-wad in only the way an archangel could be but he’d been pretty straight up about his evil plans. A bastard, yes, but a sneaky bastard, no.

Cas did some weird combo of shaking his head and shrugging, a startlingly human gesture. Dean grinned and the worried knot in his chest loosened. Maybe Cas wasn’t totally back to being a celestial stormtrooper quite yet. “No matter what else he is Raphael has always been obedient. He would not defy our father’s wishes that way, I am sure of it.”

“And who threw their hat in the ring with his?” Dean wondered. Raphael was a scary mofo. Dick though he may be, Dean couldn’t imagine many angels having the balls to stand against him.

“There are two other major factions.” Cas explained. Looking around like he found the topic boring. “Malachi leads one. He is strong and very wise, and several of our commanders back him. But he is only of middle ranking, and traditionalists flock to Raphael’s banner.”

“Traditionalists?” Dean repeated, confused.

“Raphael has always been one.” Cas nodded to himself. “He intends to break open the cage and allow the apocalypse to go ahead as written.”

Dean felt all the blood drain from his face. He was glad he was already leaning against Baby since his knees might have wobbled a bit at that news. “What?”

“Malachi argues that God’s will was to allow humans to decide their own fate, to allow angels to begin to think for themselves. Joshua has supported him in this belief, asserting that God lives and allows these things to come to pass.”

“Benevolent bastard that he is.” Dean muttered.

Cas shot him a withering look and Dean remembered that his resurrection had gone a long way towards restoring his faith in his deadbeat dad. He shrugged and Cas continued stoically. “Raphael believes that God has abandoned us, even going so far as to say he is dead.”

“I remember him singing that tune up in Maine.” Dean remarked.

Cas nodded. “He claims that it is the end of days and that allowing the Word to remain unfulfilled is a sin against our father.”

“Greeaaat.” Dean scrubbed his hand over his face. Heaven never ran out of assholes, it seemed. Dean couldn’t believe Cas hadn’t come to him with this shit.

Well, he could. He was hardly any use like this and Cas was all juiced up again. He didn’t need pathetic little Dean Winchester crying on his coattails as he tried to keep his dick-bag brothers from ripping the world to shreds again. “Wait, you said two others. Who’s leading the third faction?”

Cas looked down, embarrassment clear on his face. “There are those that support the idea of my appointment to leader of Heaven’s army.” He said sheepishly, peeking up from under his lashes to gauge Dean’s reaction.

“WHAT?” Dean choked. He couldn’t help it. The idea of Cas being Big Angel on Campus was one of the most ludicrous things he’d ever heard. Sure, he’d figured the guy had been up there preaching the gospel of free will and all, but actually commanding the heavenly host? He got the most ridiculous mental image of Cas in fatigues and a helmet, popping out of the top of a winged tank as he ran Raphael down and stifled a snicker.

If he thought it were possible Dean would have said Cas blushed. “I have told them several times that I am not suited for the role but there are those that insist my resurrection after the battle at Stull was the will of God and a sign that he designed me for this purpose.” He stared at a rusty leaf as it rattled along the gravel with the breeze.

“Is that what you think?” Dean asked, a little surprised at himself. That was a Sam question. Leading. Intuitive. Dean didn’t ask those sorts of things.

Cas seemed surprised too, blinking a few times before he answered. “I believe God resurrected me at Stull as he did before at Chuck Shurley’s home. I don’t pretend to know why.” There was something there, something tight and guarded in his eyes that Dean didn’t quite understand. Dean didn’t push it.

“And you didn’t think to tell me that you were running for vice president of paradise?” Dean balked instead.

Cas looked through Dean again, his expression tinged with sadness. “As I said, Sam wanted you to have a normal life. As I owe the both of you so much I felt I should honor his wishes and leave you to build a life here.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I am led to understand that conversing with angels in not included in the typical American dream.”

Was that a joke?

Dean snorted. “Nah, guess not. Still, Head Heavenly Honcho.” He chewed his lip, thinking it over. “Well, I mean, _maybe_.” He conceded, looking Cas up and down again. He walked a circle around his friend, noting the faded blue tie, the crisp white shirt. Still rocking the holy tax accountant look. But there was a conviction in his stance, a bearing that he hadn’t had when Dean first met him. Upright but not rigid. He didn’t act like a automaton anymore. When he moved there was the same power and grace Dean had always seen there, the same quietly concealed danger hiding under Jimmy’s milquetoast meatsuit. But more than that, he looked real now. He wasn’t some statue come to life anymore. Now alongside that danger was a man confident in his own decisions, sure of his own convictions. Maybe…

“You had the balls to do what you thought was right, even when it cost you big.” Dean mused.

Cas’s eyes lingered on Dean’s in that overly-attentive way they used to, making Dean suppress the urge to hide behind his hands. When Cas spoke Dean cringed. “Were it not for you and Sam I would not have been able to see another way but the one I had always known. You two taught me to stand on my own against Heaven and Hell and fight for what I knew in my heart to be right. I owe you a great debt for that lesson.”

“Yeah, sure Cas.” Dean mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. “But if you’re running for ‘King of Heaven’ or whatever you might want to run a comb through your hair.”

Cas blinked in confusion, his eyes rolling up as though he might be able to see the top of his own head. “My vessel is not taken into consideration among the host, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Of course. You’re, what, a ball of feathers and eyeballs up there?” Didn’t he read that in a book once?

“In my natural state I am a multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent.” Cas supplied helpfully.

“Right.” Dean chuckled. “That clears it right up.” Cas stepped closer, right up in Dean’s space and the hunter fought the urge to back away.

Just like old times.

“What have you brought me here for, Dean?” Cas asked, his voice rumbling into Dean’s skin. “From your prayer I assumed it was more important than a burning curiosity about the affairs of Heaven.”

Dean paused, trying to keep his shoulders from locking up with the tension. It didn’t matter, of course. Cas saw the discomfort in his face. Or tasted it in the fucking air for all Dean knew.

“You look… well.” Cas said hesitantly and Dean barked out another sad approximation of mirth.

“I look like shit, Cas. Feel like it, too. But that’s beside the point. We’ve got a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Cas asked, perking up. He looked like a dog on a leash, ready to launch in whatever direction Dean told him to. Dean couldn’t help the swell of pride that burst through him, knowing Cas still trusted his instincts.

“Sam’s topside. Or at least someone who looks just like him.”

Cas froze, his blue eyes widening in shock. “That’s not possible, Dean.” He said gravely.

Dean nodded. “True, though. I saw him with my own eyes.”

Cas cocked his head in that strange way he always had and Dean resisted the urge to smile. “And you are certain you weren’t mistaken?”

“I’m sure.” Dean nodded.

Cas stared at him for a long time. “I understand human grief can greatly change perception. Perhaps-”

Dean thumped his fist on the hood of the car. “Goddamnit, Cas, I wasn’t dreaming and I wasn’t drunk! I fucking saw him. Take a look in my brain, if you don’t believe me.”

Cas frowned. “You asked me to stay out of your thoughts, Dean. Several times. And in no uncertain terms.”

“Yeah, well I’m giving you a free pass. Just this once. Take a look and tell me if that isn’t Sam Winchester standing across the street from Lisa’s house.” He leaned forward, offering his forehead to Cas’ touch.

Cas looked doubtful but placed two cool fingers to Dean’s temple. With a sharp jerk Dean found himself in the flowered armchair, staring out at the dark shadow of his brother under the streetlamp. He felt again the wild surge of joy and the absolute certainty of his vision. It was Sammy.

Castiel drew his hand away, leaving Dean panting as he landed back in his body against the hood of Lisa’s car.

“See?” he demanded, struggling to hide how he shook. That had been more raw than he’d been expecting, almost as bad as being zapped someplace.

“Hmm.” Cas still looked doubtful, something dark lurking behind his eyes. His lips parted on an unnecessary breath and Dean tried not to think what else the angel had seen in his head.“I don’t doubt what you think you saw. I only doubt that it was, in fact, Sam.”

“That’s why I called you. If it is Sam then that means he broke out of the cage and that’s bad news for everyone. If it isn’t, then I want to know who’s wearing my baby brother’s face so I can tear them a new one.”

“I have not heard of any disturbances from Hell since Sam defeated Lucifer and pulled Michael down into the cage.”

“Neither has Bobby. He said it’s been all quiet on the western front for months.”

Cas cocked his head again. “If my brothers and sisters were to find out about this it could be catastrophic for the balance of Heaven.”

“What do you mean?”

“Raphael would take it as confirmation that God’s will is yet to be done. He would, no doubt, begin his march on Hell, intent on freeing Michael and Lucifer. Malachi would be forced to launch an offensive against him, most likely dragging those who support me along with him. It would be a massacre. I have no idea who might come out victorious, but it would tear Heaven apart.”

“‘Course it would.” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. “Because nothing can ever be easy.”

“Dean, you must not speak of this to anyone.” Cas’s face was deadly serious, his eyes boring into Dean’s. “Who else knows about this?”

“Just Bobby.” Dean assured him.

Cas nodded, satisfied. “Who won’t let anything slip, I’m sure. I will try to find out what I can but if you see this… if you see Sam again do not approach him. Call for me and I will come but do not trust that it is your brother. Do you understand?”

Dean nodded. “Okay, Cas. But what about you? Aren’t you a little busy on the campaign trail for this shit right now?”

Cas growled and flicked his hand dismissively. “I am not interested in politics when the cage might be open. Wait for my word, Dean.”

And with that he blinked out, leaving Dean alone in the cool summer night. “You still suck at goodbyes, man.” He grumbled, pushing himself upright and climbing back into the car.

As he pulled back onto the highway he realized he felt more normal standing in a field talking to an angel of the freaking lord about a rerun of the apocalypse than he had at a barbecue talking about football with Lisa’s neighbors.

And wasn’t that just all sorts of fucked up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song, to me, epitomizes the softer side of Cas and Dean’s friendship. It’s so rare for Dean to let his walls down around anyone but Sam but something about Cas’s directness, power, and understanding has always brought out honesty in Dean. Destiel or not, Cas is so important in his early seasons in prying Dean away from his macho bullshit and letting him feel.


	4. Losses and Gains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of the new chapters inserted to flesh out the subplot I'm working on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franz and the Eagle - Yo-Yo Ma, Edgar Meyers, Stuart Duncan, and Chris Thile, from the album the Goat Rodeo

Castiel looked out over the water with two sets of eyes, wondering at all Dean had told him. Sam Winchester, back from Hell. It couldn’t be, of course. The fallout of the cage breaking open would have been felt across the whole of the universe, and Heaven and Hell would be in complete disarray. But even if the cage were still secure, something that looked enough like Sam Winchester to fool his own brother was walking around in Indiana.

It was troubling, to say the least.

This place was far away from Indiana, from Dean, from where Sam Wichester had fallen. It was called Nahuel Huapi in this time, a beautiful place to be still and think. Not so long ago, when he was fallen, Castiel would only have seen the intense blue of the water, the icy grey of the mountains thrusting up towards the cloudless sky. He would have marvelled at the snaking tracts of trees slipping between the waters of the different lakes below, at how close the waters came to touching. He would have smelled the sunlight bouncing off the snow and gravel at his feet and the scent of the trees all around. The howling wind that ripped up the cliffside would have taken him off his feet, his frail human body unable to withstand the wicked sweep of the frigid winter gale.

But now, an angel again, he could see far more. He could see the bright flash of wandering human souls far on the other side of the lake - hikers, perhaps - and the duller glow of each and every animal hidden in the snowy undergrowth. He could read the wave-like heat patters thrown up off the bare rock into the air, and see the tiny smudges of warm rodents buried for hibernation. The great currents of electromagnetism spiralling up through the earth into the atmosphere, arching overhead in a shifting, tumultuous web blocked out the blue of the sky. The tiny electrical charges in the air blurred out the detail of the mountains. The weight of his grace anchored him to the stone. In four dimensions he saw all that had passed here, all that could come in the future. Castiel could see the tangled trails of spiritual energy woven over centuries and millennia: the power of the glaciers that had carved out the stream-bed where he stood, the tenacity of the great conifers overhead, the fragments and tatters of civilizations come and gone in the valley below.

He wondered how gaining so much could still feel a tiny bit like losing.

Castiel still remembered the fragility, the absolute terror that had come with mortality. It had been a real shock. So much so that he was rather surprised Sam and Dean had functioned for so long under that crushing weight. How any human could put aside the mind-numbing vulnerability and continue to create and grow was astonishing, a true miracle. But even with that and all the myriad irritations that came along with being human - insect bites, bizarre smells, the constant bodily functions - Castiel found that he very nearly missed it. Though he’d spent centuries among them, watching their short lives flicker by and societies rise and fall, there had been so much of humanity he didn’t understand until he walked the earth as one of them. The joy, so bright and terrible; the sadness, so aching and immediate; every feeling amplified a thousand-fold and beating away with every pulse of his heart. Suddenly it was not so surprising that humans could create works of art, erect buildings grand and cities glorious, and wreak destruction like no other of Earth’s creatures.

_Where are you?_

The voice echoed through him as his sister called out across the earth.

 _Here_. Castiel reached back.

A flutter of wings and Hannah stood beside him, her vessel a slim blond woman with a bird-like face. She was barefoot in the dried streambed, a floral dress hanging to her knobbly knees. The body was nearly blocked out by the swirl of silvery grace it contained but if Castiel tried he could see the human form she had taken. The bright flame of the soul inside was dormant, just an ember tucked away to allow the angel possession. A brilliant swirl of grace tumbled around inside her skin like a thunderstorm, reaching out to touch Cas’s own in recognition.

Hannah was among the first who had come to him after the Apocalypse, searching for the truth. There had been many wild stories of the Winchester’s exploits and of Castiel’s involvement in the whole escapade. Some stories even said Castiel had never been mortal at all, but a demon, fallen under Lucifer’s direction. There was a small number of angels who still believed that, he knew, and that he had somehow betrayed Michael and Lucifer both so that he could rule Heaven without them. Hannah had told him as much when he had returned to Heaven, one of the few brave enough to confront the power of his newly-restored grace. Castiel had assured her that he had no desire to rule anything, and that he was here only by the hand of God himself.

“What brought you here?” Hannah wondered aloud. There really was no need to speak but Castiel found that angels who frequented Earth often fell into the habit of conversing as humans would. Hannah had made a few visits to Earth over the last thousand years and it seemed they had left their mark.

“It’s beautiful.” Castiel said simply, nodding to the view.

Hannah cocked her head, her thin pink dress fluttering around her stick-like legs. “I suppose the air currents are rather pretty.” She allowed. “Challenging for flying.”

Castiel wondered if any other angel had been allowed to see as a human did, if there were anyone who could appreciate beauty in the same way.

Another, louder cacophony of wingbeats and Balthazar appeared.

“Hi, ho, Cassie!” Balthazar said, looking out over the valley. “Nice spot.” The seraph was older than Castiel or Hannah, more powerful. His grace was a beacon, a gold shimmer marking him out. Balthazar was wearing the body of a middle-aged British man, dressed in tight black trousers and a maroon t-shirt. Castiel looked closer and could see how closely tied to his vessel he was, his grace invading every molecule and atom. It was a mark of long years spent in the mortal world. There were others, too, like Hannah’s. Balthazar stood less stiffly than their sister, his weight cocked over one hip and his arms crossed over his chest. Such little gestures went a long way towards fitting into human society, Castiel had learned.

“What news?” Castiel asked, ignoring Hannah’s pinched expression as their brother pulled an apple from thin air. Balthazar had spent far longer on Earth than most other angels, and had picked up much more than just the habit of speaking aloud. He was one of the few angels Castiel knew who ate food, who had learned to distinguish taste among the mixture of molecules that flooded an angel’s senses with every bite their vessel took.

“Very little.” Balthazar said, polishing the apple against his t-shirt. His teeth flashed as he bit a hunk out of the fruit, a loud snapping crunch echoing off the rocks. He chewed noisily as he continued. “The Garden is still sealed and Joshua refuses to poke his head out for a chat. The last we heard of him was just after you came home, to say that all that had come to pass was our Father’s will. Not very helpful, really.”

“Raphael’s sermon calls many to his cause.” Hannah said, her voice flat and emotionless. Balthazar was better at the ups and downs of human languages, at inserting feeling with subtle changes of tone and pace. Castiel could see why his kin had seemed so emotionless to the Winchesters and other humans when he listened to Hannah. “Zephon has declared his support for Raphael, along with Jehoel.”

“That’s hardly a surprise.” Balthazar said around a mouthful of apple. “Zephon has always been enamoured of Raphael’s reputation. And Jehoel was Michael’s shadow for thousands of years. I’m sure with him gone Jehoel has been completely adrift.”

“And unable to fathom that Michael’s course could have been so altered.” Castiel agreed.

“Many of us were.” Hannah pointed out. “It must have been part of our Father’s plan, to allow the Winchesters to stop Michael and Lucifer from destroying creation, but it is truly terrifying to be without his guidance.”

“I know.” Castiel said. Of course he knew. He remembered so vividly that night in the motel, when he had lost the last of his faith and thrown Dean Winchester’s amulet away. It had been the most frightening experience in his long, long existence. “And I don’t blame anyone for wishing to return to a course in which they were always so certain. But there is another way, one that I believe God wanted to unfold.” So many of his siblings did not understand, might never understand, what he had seen at Stull. That two mortals should throw off the mandate of Heaven through sheer stubborn affection was something beyond the comprehension of angels. But Castiel had been there, he had been a part of it. He had thrown that flaming bottle with a human’s strength, had faced down the most terrifying of his brothers to die with his friends.

When Dean Winchester had told Castiel he was going to Stull, going to die alongside the brother he had spent his life protecting, Castiel had not understood. Of course the idea of love was familiar - angels had a great capacity for it - but before he had been human he had never felt it like that. As an angel love was wide and all-encompassing. It was in the song he sang to the sunrise, the wash of waves on the shore, the stream of starlight through the universe. But Dean Winchester’s love was nothing so gentle. It was vicious. Dean Winchester’s love was claws and teeth, a wild, clinging thing. A howling fury echoed and amplified by Sam Winchester, whose soul was no less strong, no less fierce. And Castiel didn’t understand, not until Dean’s car was out of sight in the darkness, and his friends were out of reach.

Then it had flared up in him, the desperation, the _need_. It made no sense, really. What good would his death do Dean? Or Sam? Or the world? It wouldn’t save them, it wouldn’t stop his brothers destroying the earth. But suddenly he understood why Dean needed to be there with his brothers - Adam, too - to be as close as possible to Sam even if there were no hope of saving him. As Dean drove away Castiel’s heart had cried out to follow him, to walk with him into Lucifer’s destruction and Michael’s wrath. Because Sam and Dean Winchester had tried, had fought so hard for what they believed to be right, because they were going to die defending it rather than giving in. And because Castiel loved them.

“Yeah, we’ve heard the gospel of Free Will before.” Balthazar reminded him. “It’s not us you have to convince.” He tossed his apple core aside, wiping his fingers on a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. Castiel thought it interesting that Balthazar could easily have just willed them clean, but chose the handkerchief instead.

“Several seraphs have approached me asking to meet with you.” Hannah told Castiel. “I told them you were continuing your search for our Father, and that if they wished to meet with you they should have to visit Earth.”

“Who is it?” Castiel asked, wondering which of his brothers and sisters had gained the courage to begin thinking of opposing Raphael.

“Jegudiel, Pahaliah, and Samandriel.”

“Jegudiel could be an excellent ally.” Balthazar said, eyebrows raised as he considered. “He’s more powerful than most of the host who’ve taken up your banner.”

Castiel sighed. “I did not want a banner to begin with.” He reminded his brother. “The whole point of this was to _avoid_ war.”

“War is coming, whether you want it or not.” Hannah declared. “Raphael will not rest until Michael’s destiny is fulfilled and if you wish to stop him there is no other way. A seraph of Jegudiel’s power and training could be invaluable to us in the battles to come.”

Balthazar nodded his agreement. “Pahaliah and Samandriel are not so powerful, but beggars really can’t be choosers, can we?”

“I will meet with them.” Castiel said. Of course he would. Whether or not he managed to talk his brothers and sisters out of the civil war they seemed so keen to fight he was still responsible for the lessons he had learned. It was his duty to teach his siblings that there was another way, a more peaceful way forward.

Hannah dipped her head and was gone, leaving Castiel and Balthazar staring out over the cliff.

“She’s always been a stick in the mud.” Balthazar murmured, scratching at his vessel’s stubbled cheeks. “But she’s right. Raphael isn’t going to back down. I think he may be a little crazy.”

Castiel’s grace shivered at the idea. More than one of the host had lost their sanity over the eons, and it was always a frightening spectacle. That kind of power untethered was nearly unstoppable, except by Michael and Raphael himself. An insane archangel would be a force of devastation unlike any other, something truly terrifying, and there were no more archangels to stop him should he chose a path of destruction. Castiel sent a prayer to his absent father that it wasn’t so.

“What have you learned of Malachi’s activities?” Castiel asked, changing the subject. Castiel had been surprised when Balthazar had come to meet with him initially. Balthazar and Malachi were old friends, since long before men had even walked the earth. But Balthazar had declared his support for Castiel, though why Castiel didn’t know.

He suspected that Malachi found himself in a position similar to Castiel’s own, nominated for a role he didn’t really want. It seemed that while Malachi did not support the movement rallying behind Castiel, the older angel was more than willing to allow Balthazar and others free access between the two camps. He was not controlling his followers, and they were free to leave his fold if they wished, just as Castiel’s were. Neither of them intended to rule Heaven as Michael had, only to stop Raphael from destroying it. But Hannah was right. Angels did not know how to do much more than follow orders. Without the guidance of a superior an angel was without a mooring, unable to conceive that they might choose a path for themselves. Castiel had been the same, only a few years ago. Without the Winchesters, without Anael’s example and Uriel’s betrayal, would his mind - steeped in eons of obedience and faith - have been able to grasp the concept of choice? Of free will?

He very much doubted it.

“He continues to preach temperance.” Balthazar reported with a smirk. “He speaks of patience and faith in our father, and those that gather behind him spend all their time in prayer and communion.”

Castiel nodded. Malachi’s followers were largely made up of those angels who had rarely, if ever, left Heaven. Many of them were powerful, but few had ever braved the fires of Hell, or the confusion of the mortal world. Patience and prayer rather than battle and bloodshed made up the bulk of their existence.

“May I ask you something?”

Balthazar nodded, shifting so his vessel faced Castiel more fully, another human gesture that had become natural for the angel.

Castiel looked out over the lakes, focusing again on what a human would see. “Why do you not follow Malachi?” he asked. “You’ve known him much longer, held his counsel for millennia. What brought you to me?”

Balthazar chewed on his cheek, his grace going quiet and soft inside his vessel. “Malachi’s been to earth a lot. He came when he was sent, and he was sent often. But he’s never stuck around for any other reason. I have.” He bent down to touch the stone at his feet, his fingers sliding across the rock as his grace leaked out in a wide shining pool. It caressed the stone, too, little wisps steaming off into the air in tiny golden shimmers. “Perhaps it’s only because I was stationed here so long, and my orders were sufficiently vague to allow me quite a bit of time to explore. ‘Watch over mankind, guide their efforts’, that’s a pretty general directive. But… for a few centuries now I’ve been thinking.

“When did watching become engaging?” he asked. “When did engaging become enjoying?” He scoffed, scratching again at his beard. “I’ve lived among them so long I almost feel like I belong here more than I do back in Heaven. And why is that?”

Castiel watched Balthazar’s grace slide back up his arms, coalescing into a blinding ball at his center.

“Maybe I’m closer to falling than the others. I thought that for a while.” He looked down at himself, at the golden light burning in him. “But I don’t seem to be any weaker, any darker.”

Castiel nodded his agreement. “So maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s the same reason you died with them.” Balthazar shrugged. “Maybe we are allowed to choose.”

Castiel wondered. He looked out at the blue, green, and grey dancing across the valley below, felt the wind.

Balthazar sighed. “And maybe that’s worth fighting for.”


	5. Wait For Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Master Pretender - First Aid Kit
> 
> “I always thought that you'd be here  
> But shit gets fucked up and people just disappear”

Dean chucked Ben’s sneakers into the back of the car, handing him his cleats and shin-pads. It was a blisteringly hot day in August and Ben’s summer team had made it to the semi-finals, largely due to Ben’s kick-ass slide-tackling skills. The kid had stopped more offensive manuevers than Stonewall Jackson and was the third highest scorer on the team as a defensive start. He freaking rocked. Of course Dean didn’t have much to do with it but he still felt a flush of pride every time Ben suited up for battle.

“Ready, kid?” Dean asked when Ben had cinched his cleats up tight. He was getting tall, nearly up to Dean’s shoulder, and bulking out across the shoulders a bit. He still had that bit of baby fat around his face and middle, and those freckles would keep him looking babyfaced for a long time - Dean knew how that went - but he was growing up. An old familiar curl of affection unfurled in Dean’s chest, and he tried hard not to follow it back to where it had first sprouted, watching Sam transform from girly-haired tween to fully fledged Sasquatch. In some ways Ben was a lot like Sam; smart, driven, and always ready to believe in people. To believe in Dean. Despite all evidence to the contrary…

“Ready to gank the sons-of-bitches!” Ben said with enthusiasm, pumping his fist in the air.

Dean cuffed him lightly on the back of the head. “Don’t let your mom hear you talking like that. It’ll be both our asses if she does.”

Ben laughed. “I’m ready. Richfield has a shit defence this year.”

“Language.” Dean insisted, pinching the back of Ben’s neck.

“Jeez, jeez, alright!” Ben cried, batting at Dean’s hand. “A crap defence.”

“Better.” Dean allowed, wondering how hard Jo and Ellen would be laughing if they could see him now. “You got your charm?”

Ben pulled the little red leather stamped anti-possession charm from beneath his jersey. He got away with wearing it during games because Lisa had made up some bullshit about it being part of their religion, Kabbala or something. Dean supposed it was only half bullshit, really, religion being pretty heavy on the demonic possession talk and all. Ben had begged to be allowed to get a tattoo but Dean and Lisa had agreed that the charm was less likely to draw unwanted attention from the school for now. Lisa had gotten inked not long after he’d moved in, on her ribcage beneath her left breast.

Dean put that particular image out of his mind as he ruffled Ben’s hair. “Good. Here, take your water bottle and get over there before Coach Walker yells at me for making you late again.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Ben snatched his water bottle and took off, leaving Dean to lock up the car.

“GOOD LUCK!” Dean shouted after him. It was nearly noon and the game was set to start at twelve-thirty. They’d made it just in time for warmups. Dean had never liked soccer, preferring the harder hits of football and the practical skills of boxing. Soccer had been Sammy’s thing. He’d watched premier league for years, ready to launch into a glowing testimonial of this or that team’s virtues at the drop of a hat. Dean had mostly ignored him, but watching Ben play he could start to see the appeal. It was about speed and skill, out-maneuvering your opponent rather than barrelling through him. That had always been Sam’s M.O.

All that braun and he went for brains. Pansy.

God, was he ever going to make it through a day where every other thought didn’t lead to Sam? Then again, did he want to?

“Dean!” a familiar voice broke in on his reminiscence, and Dean turned to see Lisa’s friend Talia waving him over. He grabbed the folding chairs from the trunk and trotted over, plastering his not-quite-a-smile on for show.

“Hey Talia.” He waved, plopping the chairs down beside her. “Prime spot.”

“Devon’s starting today. We had to get as close as we could.”

Dean grinned. Devon was a weedy little seventh grader and one of Ben’s best friends. The kid had been training non stop in Lisa’s back yard since school let out, determined to start before the summer was over. “Kid must be pissing himself.” Dean guessed, remembering the way Devon trembled whenever he even thought about starting.

Talia’s wife, Abbey, frowned worriedly, craning her neck to pick their boy out of the huddle. “Do you think so?” she fretted. Abbey was a kindergarten teacher and looked like it. Her short blond bob was immaculate and she wore a baby-pink sun dress and white sneakers. Once upon a time she’s have been just Sammy’s type.

Talia laughed. “Oh, definitely. But he’ll be fine. He’s ready.”

“I hope so.” Abbey nodded, gripping Talia’s hand excitedly.

“Where’s Lisa?” Talia asked, looking around for her.

“She had to work.” Dean explained. “Some yoga teacher’s conference. She’s starting up that kid’s yoga class and she needs a certificate from some course. She’s catching a cab back as soon as she’s done but she wasn’t going to make it in time for warm ups.”

“Lucky she has you to get Ben here on time, then.” Abbey smiled sweetly. Dean shifted uncomfortably, setting up the chairs beside them.

“Yeah. Lucky her.” He mumbled.

“How did you get so good with him?” Abbey asked. Dean hadn’t spent much time with her yet and she was a little in awe of his bond with Ben. She didn’t really seem to understand boys very well, probably an only child, Dean guessed.

“I uh, I had a brother.” He explained, his chest pulling tight.

“How are things at the garage?” Talia asked, noting the past tense and smoothly changing the subject. No doubt Lisa had told her his brother was dead. Dean nodded gratefully and told her the latest gossip, how Leon’s wife had threatened to leave him if he didn’t come clean about the waitress at the waffle house.

“No way!” Talia exclaimed eagerly, hanging on Dean’s every word. “How did she find out about that?”

“Apparently the girl heard Leon was married, wasn’t aware of it or happy about it once she was. She called Mary-Anne and told her everything.”

“Serves him right.” Talia asserted. “Dirty old bastard.”

Dean chuckled. “Well now he’s trying to salvage the marriage and sleeping in the back office.”

Talia laughed. “Bet that’s a real treat for everyone at the garage.”

“Freaking Christmas.” Dean agreed with an eye roll.

Dean was his usual charming self, but he wondered if Talia could tell how shallow it was. Probably not. She hadn’t known him before and he was good at the facade. Even Lisa thought he was getting better. They chatted about meaningless drivel until the whistle blew for the start of the game, and Dean was distracted cheering Ben on. In the first ten minutes Richmond scored a goal, but Ben blocked three more and sent it up the wing to his forwards each time. He was killing it today and Dean jogged up and down the sideline, shouting his approval as loudly and embarrassingly as he used to at Sam’s games.

He flinched each time he thought of his brother, seeing his face in every kid on the field, but he was used to that by now. It was Ben’s day and he was damned (again) if he was going to break down and ruin it for him.

As the whistle blew for first quarter Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. He spun, grasping at the wrist instinctively and ready to bring his knee up into the attacker’s nuts when he realised where he was and that it was only Lisa coming to greet him. Startled, she froze, a smile dropping from her face.

Dean quickly let go, shame bubbling up his throat. “Sorry.” He muttered, unable to look her in the eye. He was a fucking mental case.

“No,” Lisa chirped cheerfully, rubbing at her aching wrist. “No harm done. How’s Ben doing?” Dean gave her a rundown of the game so far and led her back to where Talia and Abbey were pulling sodas from the little cooler they’d brought, carefully avoiding touching her again.

“Lisa!” Talia called brightly. “Come sit with us! Our boys are kicking butt!”

Lisa laughed and left Dean to himself, settling in beside her friends as though she hadn’t just narrowly escaped a punch in the gut. Dean’s fingers twitched and he wondered why he had ever thought he was fit for life in normal society.

As the second quarter began he took himself down behind the far goal and around to the other side of the field where he could see the rest of the team’s parents, wary of being caught off guard again. A line of trees cut the athletic fields off from the rest of the park here and only a handful of folks had camped out on this side. Dean resumed his obnoxious cheering from this new vantage point, launching into a victory leap when Ben got an assist.

The halftime whistle blew and Ben turned to give him a thumbs-up, which Dean returned with as much enthusiasm as he could manage. As the teams trotted back to their benches for water and strategic huddling, Dean turned and blew out a breath. He was exhausted. Pushing through his apathy to support Ben required more effort than he’d have ever imagined. And that was just dumb. It just added to the swirl of guilt, frustration and confusion he kept tamped down behind his lungs. It was driving him a little crazy.

Maybe literally, he thought, scratching aimlessly at his stubbled cheek.

It had been weeks since the Sighting, as he’d come to call it in his head, and Bobby hadn’t come up with anything useful. Dean hand’t heard a peep from Cas, either. He was beginning to doubt whether or not he’d dreamed their whole exchange. He tried to tell himself to be patient, reminded himself that Cas had his own concerns in Heaven just now, but his skin cinched a bit tighter every day that he had to wait. Pretty soon it was going to split.

Talia and Abbey waved at him from across the field and he realized he was scowling. Flashing his not-a-smile he waved back, pumping his fist excitedly above his head. They whistled and cheered, Lisa smiling indulgently beside them.

Dean turned away, wandering off under the pine trees in search of some shade and privacy. He thought again of calling Cas, but Dean knew perfectly well that if the angel had found out anything useful he’d have come on his own. He didn’t need Dean breathing down his neck. Besides, if Cas was right and they needed to keep this quiet from the other angels Dean wasn’t sure how hard Cas could clamp down on angel radio when he came down for a chat. Better Cas stay safely under the radar in Heaven than risk Raphael finding out that The Rapture: Part Deux might be in the works.

Just as he was about to turn back to the field, Dean caught a movement in the trees. Down a little way from the last set of spectators a tall, long-haired man stood staring out over the field. Dean’s blood froze in his veins as the man turned, levelling hazel eyes familiar as breathing at him. For an instant the man only stared, his broad shoulders square and strong against the green behind him, before turning to disappear into the trees.

“Sam.” Dean breathed. Once again it was that rush of pure adrenaline, joy bursting from every capillary. It moved his legs before he could think to do so himself, sending him hurtling forward with his heart in his mouth. He tore down the sideline, heedless of the chairs and umbrellas and coolers he was kicking out of the way. “Sam!” He sprinted after the retreating figure, his lungs straining as he dodged around trees and shrubs. It didn’t make sense that Sam would run but Dean couldn’t have cared less. He was here. Within reach.

He was here!

“CAS!” He gulped, hurtling over a broken fence. “CAS, HE’S HERE!” Dean burst from the tree line onto a wide green lawn. Here and there gazebos stood beside fountains and flowerbeds, packed to the brim with summer barbecuers. Dean searched frantically for the head and shoulders that would spring above most crowds, catching a glimpse of chestnut hair flying out of sight around a bend in the bike path. He dove after it, his legs burning and his pulse pounding.

Wait, Sammy. Slow down. Just wait.

A pair of arms wrapped around his waist like iron bands, jerking him to a breathless halt.

“Let go!” Dean screamed, throwing an elbow in the face of whatever idiot was trying to hold him back. It glanced off, sending a painful shockwave up Dean’s arm to rattle his teeth in their sockets.

“Dean!” The stern voice cut through his desperation.

“Cas?” his voice was a strangled wheeze. Damn, he was out of shape.

“That is not your brother.” Cas said, his stoney gaze fixed on the path where Sam had disappeared.

“Wha-“ Dean felt his heart whither and drop into his shoes. “What do you mean?”

“Whatever it is, it isn’t human. It hasn’t got a soul.”

Dean’s innards turned to ice once more. “But Cas-“

“We’ve got to get out of here.” Cas said and without another word they blinked out.


	6. Breaking it Gently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Empty - Ray Lamontagne 
> 
> “Well I looked my demons in the eyes  
> Laid bare my chest and said  
> ‘do your best to destroy me’  
> You see I’ve been to hell and back so many times  
> I must admit  
> you kinda bore me.”

When they blinked back into existence they were standing in Lisa’s living room, Dean’s muddy boots leaving marks on her clean white carpet. Who the hell gets white carpet, anyway? Dean thought, bizarrely.

“Cas…” Dean was still gasping for air.

“I told you not to approach it.” Cas barked, shooting Dean a stern glare. Dean didn’t have the presence of mind to look ashamed.

“Cas…” he stammered again.

“We must bolster the wards.” Cas said, immediately setting off to to do just that and leaving Dean to catch his breath.

It had been Sammy. It was his face. His eyes. His stupid freaking hair. It was him. Dean’s muscles began to spasm, locking up as the shock of it settled in. He sank onto one of the couches, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as the image of his brother watching him, whole and healthy and not fifty feet away, replayed over and over and over in his head. He felt like his skin had turned to paper, liable to tear open if he moved.

Cas ignored him, producing a knife from thin air. He casually sliced open a vein and began painting sigils on the pastel walls as he chanted something in Enochian. Lisa was going to be pissed when she saw this…

“Lisa!” Dean sprang up, grabbing his phone from his pocket and punching her number. Cas glanced back, a worried frown on his face. “Come on, pick up!” Dean grumbled, his free hand clenching and unclenching at his side.

“Dean?” Lisa sounded freaked already. No doubt she’d seen him take off like a freaking psycho, plowing through innocent bystanders.

“Lisa! Get Ben and get the hell out of there.” He didn’t bother with explanation. Lisa knew enough to know what his tone of voice meant.

“Dean, where are you?” He could already hear here moving, no doubt running to the huddle to snatch Ben.

“I’m at the house. You have to get away from there. There’s… something there.”

“Should I warn the others?” she puffed. He heard a whistle in the background.

“No. It’s…” he shook his head. “Get in the car and get home. Now.”

“Got it.” There wasn’t a trace of fear in her voice and Dean felt an odd combination of pride and guilt as he hung up. She was one tough lady.

“Cas,” Dean snapped his phone shut and stuffed it in his pocket, “I’ll take over here, you go watch over Lisa and Ben.”

Cas protested. “Dean, you don’t know the signs…”

“Not all of them, but I know a bunch of ‘em.” Dean darted to the pantry, grabbing the two large boxes of salt he always kept stored there and laying lines across the window sills.“You can finish up when you get back. I’ve got the demon knife.” He pulled the sheath from where it stuck in his belt, showing it to Cas before strapping it to his thigh for easier access. “They’ve only got Lisa’s little glock and she’s still a shitty shot. They are in more danger than me right now.” Cas nodded but he didn’t look happy about it.

“I’ll be ok, Cas.” Dean insisted. “Anything comes through that door, Sammy or not, I’m stabbing it.” He put down the salt, took the silver knife from Cas’s hand and slid it across his forearm, drawing a bright red line of blood. “Don’t let them see you, it’ll freak ‘em out. I don’t want Lisa driving into a pole cause you pop up in the back seat of her car. Just make sure they get here safe, ok?” Cas nodded and blinked out.

Dean continued where Cas had left off, wincing at the pinch of pain every time he dipped his fingers into the cut. “Gotten soft.” He muttered.

He covered the door in all the warding sigils he could remember from the Cas-trap at Bobby’s barn and checked that the devil’s traps he’d discretely carved into every window sill and door frame were still present and correct. He was up in Ben’s room finishing a three-point warding spell in sharpie when Lisa’s car pulled into the driveway. Dean jogged down the stairs and knotted a kitchen towel around his arm as he peered out the window, demon knife at the ready.

“They are unharmed.” Cas said from behind him. Dean jumped and spun, sinking the knife into Cas’s stomach before he had even registered the words.

Cas blinked at him, startled, then looked down at the knife jutting from just under his ribs.

“Shit, Cas!” Dean exclaimed, letting go and stumbling back a step. Adrenaline roared through his veins, making his palms itch. “Oh, man, sorry!” Logically he knew the knife wouldn’t have hurt Cas - it hand’t even made him twitch back when they first met - but there was something about the handle sticking out of him, moving when he moved, that made Dean feel like he might puke.

Cas just reached down and yanked the knife out - not even a drop of blood on the blade - and offered it back to Dean handle first. Dean stared at it, his fingers strangely weak. Cas looked at him for a moment, his head tilted serenely over his right shoulder as if trying to fathom why Dean had begun to sweat. “No harm done, Dean.” Cas assured him after a long moment, opening his coat to show Dean his unblemished white shirt.

“Right.” Dean nodded, taking back the knife and sliding it into the sheath oh his thigh. Crap. “Thanks, Cas. For that.” He jerked his head towards the window, indicating Lisa and Ben.

“Of course.” Cas nodded and began inspecting Dean’s symbols. That meant he was almost smacked in the nose as Lisa threw the door open, her hand in her purse and Ben tucked protectively behind her back.

She froze when she saw Cas standing there, her hand coming up with the glock cocked and ready. Her finger wasn’t on the trigger but it was lined up right along the barrel like Dean had taught her. Cas tilted his head at her like a curious puppy.

“Woah!” Dean lunged forward, stupidly grabbing the barrel of the gun and holding up his other hand.

“Dean, that would not have hurt me, either.” Cas pointed out, a trace of impatience in his voice. “You, however-“

“Principle of the thing.” Dean cut him off, pushing Lisa’s hand gently towards the floor. “Besides, we don’t need the nieghbors reporting gunshots.” They definitely didn’t, but Dean hadn’t really given that any thought when he’d seen the gun aimed at Cas’s chest. Poor guy had already been stabbed trying to help, he didn’t need to get shot too. Even if he barely felt it, it still made for a shitty day. “He’s a friend, Lis.”

Lisa looked at him, at the blood still dripping down his arm from beneath her flowered towel, and then back to Cas.

“I do not mean to harm either you or your son.” Cas assured her in his most serene, sincere voice, probably reading her mind. Lisa’s eyes flicked to Dean’s arm again.

“And he didn’t do this.” Dean added, pointing to the towel. Cas seemed to notice the towel for the first time and reached for Dean’s head. Dean ducked away. “Later, man.” It was just a cut, definitely not worth the weird queasiness that always came post-angel-healing. “Come on, Lis, get in here. Quickly.”

Lisa’s face relaxed just a fraction and she herded Ben inside, flicking the safety and stowing her gun back in her purse. Cas stepped aside as Dean led them to the couch, closing the door behind them and redrawing the salt line there. The kid was looking a little wild around the eyes and Dean felt a smudge of fresh guilt slip across his mind as he pushed them down on the couch. He sat on the coffee table facing them, wondering how they had ever gotten caught up in his shit-show of a life.

“Hey, kid.” He smiled sadly. “Sorry about the game.”

“That’s alright. We were winning when I left.” Ben said excitedly. “What’s going on, Dean? Are we under attack?”

Dean grimaced, wishing Ben didn’t look thrilled shitless at the idea. “Not sure yet, kid. I hope not. Still got your charm on?” he checked, relieved when Ben pulled it out again. “Good.” Ben nodded vaguely, looking around at the improvements Dean had made to security. Lisa was also looking at them, her expression a mixture of wonder and disgust.

“This isn’t accurate.” Cas called angrily from behind the door, waving his hand so one of Dean’s larger sigils disappeared.

Ben sat up as if electrified. “Coooooool.” He breathed.

“Take it up with Bobby, they’re his signs.” Dean grumped, embarrassed. How was he supposed to accurately remember every stupid squiggle in every book he’d ever read? Because it means our heads, he heard Sam’s memory snark.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Lisa asked, her voice impressively level. “Who is he?”

“That’s… um.” Dean glanced over at Cas, who had opened another vein and was painting in blood on her door.“Well, that’s a long story.” He admitted.

“I’ve got time.” Lisa said stonily. She had the same pinched frown that she got when Ben left dishes all over the house or threw his wet towel on the couch. Dean couldn’t help but wonder if painting protective wards in blood all over her walls was just a suped-up level of mess she didn’t need.

“Right.” Dean squirmed. How the hell did he explain this? “Well, you know I told you about… Sam?” Lisa’s eyes immediately softened, her hand reaching out to grasp his knee. She nodded, her other arm reaching almost unconsciously for Ben. “Well, he showed up at Ben’s soccer game today.”

Lisa blinked. “Wha… how is that possible?”

“I thought you said his brother died?” Ben asked helpfully, his eyes still rivited on Cas. Apparently strange dudes painting blood magic was the equivalent of the superbowl to this kid. Dean smothered the twisted grin that threatened to make an appearance and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I have no freaking clue,” Dean answered Lisa, ignoring Ben, “but whatever it means it can’t be good.”

Cas disappeared into the kitchen, probably about to paint garish signs across Lisa’s pretty bay windows. The neighbors would talk.

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him.” Dean admitted quietly. “That night, a few weeks ago.”

“When you and mom were in the front yard?” Ben guessed.

“Yeah, kid.” Dean looked guiltily up at Lisa through his lashes.

“And you didn’t tell me this?” Lisa asked, pissed. Rightfully so, Dean knew.

Dean shrugged uncomfortably. “I thought I saw him, but I wasn’t sure. I called Cas - Castiel, that’s his name - and asked him to keep an eye on things until we were sure. That it wasn’t just me. Wishing. I guess now we’re sure.”

“And this Castiel person, he’s a hunter? You trust him?”

Dean couldn’t help the sharp laugh that broke through. “He’s definitely not a hunter, but yeah. I trust him, Lis. Completely.” He realized as he said it that it was true, and that there wasn’t really anyone else he could say that about. Except Bobby.

“Is he a witch?” Ben guessed. The kid had only limited knowledge of the supernatural, and admittedly all those symbols looked pretty witchy. Still, Dean wrinkled his nose at the idea.

“Gross, no.” He protested, a delicate shudder ruffling his collar.

“I am an Angel of the Lord.” Cas supplied helpfully, pacing back into the room with a bottle of dried sage in his hand. He took advantage of Dean’s distraction to casually press his fingers to the hunter’s temple, giving a tiny and unnecessary shove. Dean let out an odd grunt as the cut on his arm healed over and a rush of energy went through him. It had been a while since Cas had whammied him. He’d nearly forgotten how much he hated it. The instant of vertigo, that strange chill through his guts. And there, right on cue, the snap of nausea.

Lisa’s jaw nearly hit the floor and Dean suppressed another hysterical laugh, shaking his head at Cas’s ever-present tact. Ben looked freaking delighted.

“Thanks, man.” Dean sighed and unwound the now spotless kitchen towel from his newly-healed arm. “I was trying to break it gently.”

“Oh.” Cas said indifferently, dropping his sage on the coffee table and heading upstairs. Dean had no idea what he was doing up there but no doubt it was all mystical and angel-y, so he left him to it.

He looked back to Lisa, who was staring dumbly up the staircase after Cas. “Right.” He muttered. “I said it was a long story.”


	7. Got To Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening: When the Levee Breaks - Led Zeppelin
> 
> “Cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good  
> Now, cryin' won't help you, prayin' won't do you no good  
> When the levee breaks, mama, you got to move”

Dean paced the kitchen, his phone pressed tight to his ear. Bobby wasn’t happy, ranting and raving about missing signs and sneaky demons and hunters too lazy to give him accurate reports.

“So what you’re saying is, you still haven’t found anything, right?” Dean demanded, cutting through the old man’s tirade.

Bobby had a few choice words for his summary but eventually he admitted it. “I can’t find a single, solitary thing that might point to Lucy being topside.” He grumped, and Dean could hear him slamming books around on his desk.

“Well, keep trying.” Dean ordered.

“No shit.” Came Bobby’s predictable retort. “What about Feathers? He got any ideas?”

Dean shrugged angrily. “Nothing any more useful than you’ve got. Cas says whatever it was wasn’t Sam, and Lucy was the last one wearing Sam’s face.” After finishing his anti-bad-guy finger painting, Cas had discretely blinked out to do a sweep of the neighborhood and the soccer field. If Sam’s skin was walking around they’d soon know it.

“Let me know if Feathers finds anything.”

“Sure.” They hung up, Dean gripping his phone in frustration. What the hell was he supposed to do if Cas wouldn’t let him chase this bastard down and no one could find a single sign pointing to a possible culprit? He needed Sammy and his magic laptop, goddamnit. With his research skills they’d have had it wrapped up by lunch.

The familiar sound of rustling feathers heralded Cas’s reappearance in the kitchen and Dean looked up eagerly. “Cas. Did you find anything?” 

Cas shook his head. “Nothing.” He replied.

Dean gritted his teeth and slammed his phone on the counter. “What the hell is going on? I thought demons had a hard time hiding from you now that you’re back to full mojo?”

“Have you forgotten the Enochian on your ribs? If it is Sam’s body those would still be in force. Anyway, perhaps it is not a demon.” Cas suggested.

“What else could it be?” Dean demanded, a cold weight settling in his stomach. He could think of several things that could make themselves look like Sam. Shapeshifters, dopplegangers, hell, even witches could do it. He didn’t know why any of them would pick his brother as a halloween costume, but they certainly could.

“Any number of things.” Cas confirmed, his eyebrows pinching together.

“What?” Dean leaned forward. “What is that face supposed to mean?”

“I have neverfelt something like that before.” Cas admitted. “Normally I don’t rely on only my vessel’s eyes to tell me what is going on around me. I have senses humans don’t that allow me to recognise many creatures before you would be able to. That… thing, was something new, something I’ve never encountered before.”

“Cool.” Dean groaned, rubbing his hand over his sweat-slicked forehead. “So it’s a new freak in the show that just decided the Winchesters were a good target. Not that surprising, really.”

“Dean, as I said before, these wards are only temporary and certainly not strong enough to keep Lucifer out if he is indeed back among us. I suggest we relocate to Bobby Singer’s as soon as possible.”

“Right. Give me a minute to warn him.” Dean flicked out his phone again and hit redial. Bobby was swearing before Dean had even spoken so he figured the caller ID had started working again on Bobby’s ancient landline.

“Bobby, hold on a second!” Dean waved his free hand in the air as if that would somehow help calm the old man down.

“What?” Snapped Bobby. “I’d get on a hell of a lot faster without you calling me every ten minutes to ask if I’ve gotten anywhere!”

“Bobby!” Dean barked, silencing the old hunter. “Lisa and Ben aren’t safe here. Cas is gonna beam us all over in about twenty minutes, alright?”

“Oh.” Bobby coughed. “Good. Get your ass here and do your own damn digging.”

Dean hung up without bothering with a goodbye.

“Dean?” Lisa called, coming around into the kitchen. “Who are you talking to- oh.” She stopped short, goggling at Cas again. “You’re back.”

“Yes.” Cas replied helpfully. When he didn’t move or speak again Lisa crossed her arms nervously.

“Right.” she gulped. They just looked at each other, Cas curiously, Lisa uncomfortably.

“Cas, could you check on Ben?” Dean asked, breaking their staring contest.

“Ben is perfectly fine. He is in his room trying to listen to our conversation.” Cas said, tilting his head up towards the ceiling.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Rainman. Why don’t you go check on him anyway?”

Cas blinked. “Oh. You would like to speak to Lisa alone.” He guessed.

“Yeah. So… scoot.” Dean made a shooing motion with one hand. Cas nodded and blinked out, making Lisa jump.

“That’s freaky.” She breathed.

“Yeah. I’d say you get used to it but…” Dean shrugged. They fell into an awkward silence.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Lisa commented finally, quirking an eyebrow at the sigils.

“Kinda goth chic, hu?” he joked weakly, leaning over the counter.

She chuckled, looking up with a sad smile. “I can see why hunters don’t moonlight in interior design.”

Dean shrugged apologetically. “Look, Lis. We can’t stay here. It’s as secure as we can get it but it’s not gonna hold up against the big boys.”

She stood a bit straighter. “And you think they’re coming after us?”

Dean felt a confusing swell of guilt and pride that she’d immediately said _us_. “Me, Lis. They’re coming for me.”

Lisa looked him up and down, her expression somewhere between annoyance and fear. “You haven’t talked much about what happened before you came here.” Lisa observed. “And I haven’t asked. I figured losing Sam, that must have been awful. I didn’t want to pry. I thought you’d open up with time, figure out how to move on, how to talk to me. But Dean, there’s an angel in my son’s bedroom and blood all over my walls.”

“I know.” Dean nodded, rubbing his knuckles guiltily over his jaw. “You gotta know that I thought all this was over when I came here. I wouldn’t have brought this shit to you two.”

“But Dean, you’ve always known this kind of stuff was out there. You knew it would catch up with us eventually.” Dean winced but Lisa caught his hand. “No, I didn’t mean… I meant that when you came here you knew you might have to protect us from something, someday. A werewolf or vampire or whatever else…Why is this different? What is it scaring you so much now?”

Dean didn’t answer. How on earth was he supposed to even begin?

Oh hey, Lisa, so you know the devil? Well he’s real and Sam sort of swallowed him in a last ditch effort to avert the apocalypse when a bunch of dick-hole angels gave us no other choice. His plan was to jump into hell and trap Lucifer there and the good news is it worked. Bad news is that means he’s supposed to be stuck down there, too. Really bad news is he’s walking around up here again which means the devil might be too. So…

He shook his head. She’d taken so much shit from him. How could he possibly pile all this on her too? He just stared at her, helplessly silent as he tried desperately to find the words.

“So where do we go?” Lisa asked finally. She crossed her arms, her mouth pursed in annoyance but her eyes soft. Goddamn she was too good for him.

“Bobby’s.” Dean croaked. “He’s the old hunter I told you about. His place is Fort Knox.”

“Your father’s friend. The one that helped raise you and Sam?” A sparkle of interest flickered in her eyes.

“That’s the one. His place isn’t exactly kid friendly,” Dean pulled an apologetic grimace, “and it’s not the Ritz, but it’s tight as a tick. You’ll be safe there until we figure out what the hell is going on.”

Lisa frowned. “ _I’ll_ be safe there? What about you?”

Dean sighed, shifting his weight back onto his heel and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look I… I know this is shitty. I know I’ve dragged you into this and put you and Ben in the crosshairs. And I’m sorry.” He looked up, begging her to believe him. “I’m so sorry. But… I can’t let this one slide. Cas and I have got to take care of this. And if it’s coming after me - and they always come after me - I can’t let you two get hurt because of it.”

Lisa smiled, her eyes looking a bit misty as she stepped forward and ran her hand across his stubbly cheek. “Dean.” She said gently.

Dean shook her off, stepping back and twisting his hands in his pockets. “I know I shouldn’t have brought this down on you. I know I should have let you have a normal… a real life. Lisa, I am so sorry.” His eyes stung with unshed tears and pulled one hand free to dig at his temple.

“Dean.” She repeated in the same tone she used when Ben was sick or hurt. “Do you remember saving our lives? Do you remember rolling up like a thunderstorm and killing that… monster?” she had never quite been able to give changelings their real names. “Do you remember giving me my son back?”

“Lis-“

“This life found us. The same as it found you. It didn’t follow you to us, it was already here.” She said, forcing his eyes up to meet hers. “We were just lucky enough to have you and Sam there to help. These things that you’ve hunted, they’re out there. Whether we know about them or not, whether we believe in them or not, they’re there. And they’re dangerous. And that is not on you, Dean.” Dean wasn’t sure why he winced but Lisa pushed on. “All you’ve done to Ben and I is made sure we’re more prepared for them than most.” Dean didn’t resist her hand this time as it cupped his cheek. “Ignorance isn’t safety, Dean. It’s just ignorance.”

Dean laid his hand over hers, hoping the gentle squeeze he gave her fingers conveyed at least some of his gratitude.

Dean sighed, wishing he’d had the balls to tell her all this months ago. “Stuff… happened, Lisa. Sam didn’t just die. He…” he shook his head. How the hell was he supposed to say this out loud?

Lisa seemed to sense his confusion and patted his cheek. “Alright, Dean. If the angel says it isn’t safe here we’ll go. You think about what you need to say to me while I go pack a bag and get Ben ready. I trust you, Dean, but when it’s my son’s safety I need to know what’s going on, alright?” She smiled and it struck Dean all over again how lucky he was to have her. “I want the whole truth this time. I think I deserve that.”

“Yeah.” Dean mumbled, squeezing her hand gratefully. “You do.”

Lisa smiled and slipped from the kitchen, her footsteps padding softly up the stairs. After a moment Dean followed, heading to his own room to rummage in the little dresser. He was packed in a depressingly short time, one small duffle of clothes, only a few of them new in the last six months. He grabbed another empty duffle from the closet and chucked it next to the first.

Crouching next to the bed he unscrewed the vent from the wall with his thumbnail and fished around in the dark duct until his hand closed around a familiar set of keys.

He jogged back downstairs to find Cas standing in the kitchen again, his head cocked to the side and his eyes distant.

“Angel radio?” Dean guessed, dropping his bags beside the table.

“There is some unrest. I don’t understand.” Cas frowned deeply, turning his head a bit. Adjusting the feed, Dean figured.

“Do you need to… you know. Go check on that?” Dean asked, pointing up like an idiot.

Cas shook himself, righting his head and flexing his hands. “I have time to see you safely to Bobby’s.” He assured Dean. He was fully present again, his eyes bright and sharp.

“Right. Look, I’ve got to make a run to the garage.”

Cas’s eyebrows scrunched. “Dean, that is-“

“Baby’s in there.” Dean explained. “I’m gonna grab some stuff from the trunk. Just in case.” Cas looked skeptical but moved to follow.

“Lisa!” he called up the stairs, waiting until she popped her head out of Ben’s room. “Cas and I are gonna grab some supplies from the garage. We can get in and out,” he glanced at Cas for confirmation and Cas nodded, “so don’t open the door for anything, got it?”

“Right.” Lisa nodded and ducked back into Ben’s room.

Dean and Cas slipped out into the deceptively pleasant afternoon air and slunk silently around the side of the house to the garage. It was a small, slapdash shingle building with only room enough for one car. Lisa had never used it before Dean moved in - it creeped her out - so it was easy enough for Dean to back Baby in, cover her over with a tarp and lock the door. He knelt, forcing the gnarled key into the massive padlock that held the door down. That done, he rolled the door up a few feet as quietly as possible and ducked underneath. Cas popped through, the bastard.

“Hold this.” Dean demanded, passing him the lock as he unlocked the trunk.

There it all was, still laid out in his beautifully ordered chaos. The paraphernalia of two generations of hunters piled haphazardly on top of one another, just waiting to hurt something.

“You’re smiling.” Cas told him and Dean quickly schooled his features.

“Should have brought the bag. Here, load up.” He thrust several things into Cas’s arms - a machete, a box of rock salt rounds, a couple flasks of holy water and an extra rosary, the angel blade they’d picked off Gabriel’s body back at that hotel. Castiel sucked in a breath at that, his eyes widening.

“Is this…?”

“Gabriel’s.” Dean nodded, dropping a taser into his pocket.

“How did you get this?” Cas asked, gripping the handle almost reverently.

“Showed up in the trunk next to that freaky DVD he left us after he bit it. Figured he was done with it.”

Cas swallowed, staring at it. “Oh.” Dean paused, realizing just how far he’d crammed his foot in his mouth. “Sorry, man. I keep forgetting you guys were… family.”

Cas said nothing. His big blue eyes were distant and he held his shoulders just a bit more sharply. Cursing his own fat mouth, Dean grabbed his sawed-off and his pearl-handled pistols and slammed the trunk closed, clumsily locking it with one hand.

“Come on.” They slid back out of the garage - well, Dean slid and Cas poofed - and Dean rolled the door back down with one boot so Cas could magic the padlock back in place before they trotted back around to the patio. Lisa stood at the door holding a kitchen knife ready until she saw Dean. Cas nodded at the lock and the bolt slid aside, letting them in.

“The table, Cas.” Dean ordered, dropping his own armload down. Cas did as he was told, and as he dropped his armload of weapons something occurred to Den. “Hey, Cas.” He said.

“Yes, Dean?”

“You could have just zapped us to the shed and back, couldn’t you?”

Castiel tipped his head. “You dislike being ‘zapped’.” He reminded Dean. As if Dean was ever going to forget just how much he hated that feeling. Still, the little rabbit-ear quotes Cas threw up were enough to rattle half a rusty chuckle from Dean’s chest. Cas peered at him a moment longer, then disappeared into the living room without a word. Dean winced, hoping Cas wasn’t too pissed about his casual mention of Gabriel’s death. He would have been, if it were the other way around. Goddamnit.

“All this has just been sitting in my garage?” Lisa stepped up to the table. She looked a bit sick at the thought.

“Double locked with the keys well hidden.” Dean explained quickly. “Wouldn’t have put Ben in danger.”

“No, I know that. Just…” She picked up the taser, flicking the switch and startling at the blue-flaring arc of electricity. “Jesus.” She slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes sliding to the living room door.

Dean snorted. “You can swear, Lis. He’s an angel, not a schoolmarm. Although sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference with him.”

She shook her head, crossing her arms as though trying to hold herself together. “Sorry, Dean. I just… I can’t get over it. An actual angel.”

“Yeah well,” Dean grumbled, remembering Sam’s reaction when he’d heard the heavenly host was for real, “if you see any others you can just assume they’re not here to help. First thing you learn about angels is they’re a bunch of dicks.”

“Dean!” He couldn’t help but laugh at the outrage in her face as she grabbed his sleeve.

“It’s the truth.” He insisted. “But don’t worry, Cas is different. He was on our side.”

“Your side?” Lisa repeated. “Meaning you have fought angels?”

Dean huffed through his nose. “Some of ‘em, yeah.” Lisa still looked scandalised but said nothing, placing the taser carefully back on the table.

Dean quickly sorted the pile into groups. Blades, guns, and miscellaneous things like salt pouches and holy water. “You and Ben are both carrying flasks of holy water from now on. If anyone’s acting funny you douse ‘em. Even if it’s me. Especially if it’s me. Got it?” Lisa nodded, taking the small tin flask he offered and tucking it the back pocket of her jeans. “I’m guessing Bobby’s got plenty of equipment but I figure you can never have too much. And he sure as hell doesn’t have one of these.”

“What’s that?” Lisa asked, crossing her arms as though to keep her hands safe from the arsenal on her table.

“Angel blade.” Dean explained, hefting Gabriel’s sword. “This will kill just about anything walking, flying, crawling, or materializing. Gabe donated it to the cause when he got smoked.”

“Gabe?” Lisa asked.

“Gabriel.” Dean explained distractedly, shoving the guns and ammo in his empty duffle. “Cas’s brother.”

“Gabriel?” Lisa’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “ _The_ Gabriel?”

Dean winced, remembering how little he’d told the woman who had taken him in. “Yeah. He’s uh, he wasn’t as impressive as you’d think. Short.”

Lisa stared at him a moment before she shook her head. “Right. I think I’m going to go check that we have everything packed.” Dean watched her go, wishing for the millionth time he’d never walked into her life and brought his shit-show with him.

When Dean had finished arranging his duffel-bag-arsenal a startled laugh drew his attention to the living room. He found Cas starting down at Ben with a puzzled expression. Lisa’s purple rolling suitcase and Ben’s backpack were parked at the end of the couch and Dean dropped his bags beside them, quickly tucking Gabriel’s blade into the top of the duffle and the demon knife down the back of his jeans.

“I don’t understand.” The angel rasped, “Have I said something amusing?”

“Dean!” Ben laughed. “This guy is great! Did you really try to teach him to be an FBI agent?”

Dean smirked at the memory. “Try being the operative word.” Cas looked slightly offended and Dean clapped him on the back. “You sucked at it, man. You couldn’t even figure out how to hold the badge.”

“I was not, at that time, well-versed in the art of lying, Dean.” Cas sniffed. “I have learned a bit about it since then.”

“Yeah, well that’s what hanging out with hunters will do for you.” Dean rolled his eyes.

“How did you meet an angel?” Ben asked curiously.

Cas seemed to assume that question was for him. “I was sent to-“

“CAS!” Dean slapped a hand over Cas’s mouth and glared. He was not about to have Cas tell Ben all about his blood-soaked stint in the Pit and how the God Squad had to save his ass because he was dumb enough to start the end of days. “Let’s not bring that up, ok?” he growled.

Cas looked confused but nodded, not bothering to adjust his face when Dean took his hand away.

“No one tells me anything.” Ben pouted.

“There’s some stuff you don’t want to know, trust me.” Dean winked, rubbing his hand on his shirt. “I will tell you that this isn’t Cas’s real voice, and when he first tried to talk to me he nearly popped my eardrums.” Ben’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. “Shattered a whole ceiling’s worth of mirrors.” Dean chuckled.

“Really? Cool!”

“It was a miscalculation, I have told you before.” Cas managed to look pissed and embarrassed at the same time. Quite a feat for his amazing wooden face.

Lisa trotted in and glanced around wistfully. Her potted lilies on the mantle, the string art one of her student’s had given her on the wall. Ben’s Kindergarten graduation photo. She was leaving it all behind and it was because Dean had come to her at his weakest. He hoped she could come back. She deserved to come back.

“Well.” She shrugged, taking a deep breath. “I suppose we’re as ready as we’re going to be.”

“Let’s get this show on the road, Cas.” Dean sighed, wishing they had the time to just drive to Bobby’s.


	8. The Burden, The Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Devil’s Backbone - The Civil Wars
> 
> “Give me the burden, give me the blame,  
> I’ll shoulder the load and I’ll swallow the shame.  
> Give me the burden, give me the blame,  
> How many, how many Hail Mary’s is it gonna take?”

Dean shook himself as his feet landed on the creaking floorboards of Bobby’s front room. He hated being mojo-ed back and forth. And now he’d been mojo-ed twice in one day. That slithery feeling of his blood trying to find its right way back through his capillaries would last for days after.

All four of them stood in the same circle they’d left in, holding hands with their bags slung over their shoulders. Lisa looked about how he expected, shaken and a little green around the gills. Ben looked fucking thrilled.

“Holy crap that was the coolest thing ever!” he practically squealed, gripping Dean’s hand and bouncing on the ball of his feet. “Can we do it again?”

Dean snorted. Cas immediately dropped Dean and Lisa’s hands and marched to the door to begin checking Bobby’s sigils. The old hunter himself was standing from behind the massive stacks of books that covered his old desk, looking as shabby and sharp-tongued as ever. He rounded the desk, not bothering with greetings until he’d wrapped Dean in a bear-hug.

“Heya, Bobby.” Dean choked, hoping like hell he could hold it together until Lisa and Ben were settled. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, well.” Bobby said, stepping back and clapping Dean’s shoulder. “Lisa, Ben. Welcome, for what it’s worth.”

Lisa smiled and offered him a quick kiss on his grizzled cheek. “Thank you for taking us in.” She said, squeezing his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Bobby grunted and Dean thought he saw the beginnings of a blush creep up from under the beard. “What’s Feathers up to?” he glanced at the staircase where Cas was running his fingers over the sigil-carved bannister.

“Found some mistakes in the wards I learned from you. Think he wants to triple check.” Dean shrugged.

“It ain’t my symbols that are wrong, kid.” Bobby fixed him with a baleful eye.

Dean shrugged. “You got the wards in against angels?” he asked.

Bobby nodded. “It was a bitch figuring out how to write in an exemption,” he hitched his chin towards Cas, “but I got it all in in the end.”

Dean nodded. Until they knew what the hell was going on he wanted all his bases covered. “Let’s get these two settled. Then…” he side-eyed Lisa, “then we gotta have a talk.”

“That can wait until after dinner, don’t you think?” Lisa asked.

Bobby nodded. “Sure thing. This way, folks.” He led the way up the stairs, Lisa and Ben trailing behind as Dean threw his duffles on the couch and started unloading his weapons.

Cas continued to flit about in the dim light of Bobby’s dusty lamps, nodding his satisfaction at the hundreds of symbols Bobby had secreted on every surface of his home. Cas stared at the ceilings and walls that to Dean looked blank, and Dean realized he was probably seeing the residue of dozens of spells and crap Dean couldn’t that Bobby had laid down over the years. Sneaky old bastard.

“Ship shape?” Dean asked, running a hand over his jaw.

“Everything appears to be correct.” Cas nodded, satisfaction clear in his voice. “Still, I will check the perimeter of the property.”

Between one blink and the next he was gone. A few minutes later while Dean was double-checking that the various hidden guns and knives were all in the places he remembered Bobby stashing them - he’d have to warn Ben and Lisa about that - the old hunter himself came tramping back down the stairs.

“Lisa and Ben unpacking?” Dean guessed, trailing behind the old hunter to the kitchen where Bobby immediately dug into the fridge for a couple beers. He popped the tops and offered one to Dean, who took a long pull and leaned agains the counter.

“Yeah.” Bobby said as he scratched under the brim of his cap. “Kid’s acting like it’s Christmas. Reminds me of you at that age.”

“Eh.” Dean shrugged. “He’s smarter than I ever was.”

“And you?” Bobby asked, his voice even more gruff than usual. “How are you taking this?”

“Peachy, Bobby.” Dean sneered sarcastically. “Some slimy piece of hell-scum is wearing Sam to prom, AGAIN. I’m doing the freaking conga over here, man.”

“Yeah well, don’t forget the cha-cha-cha’s.” Bobby shook his head and took a drink. They stood together in silence, Bobby leaning against his desk and Dean leaning on the arm of a ragged sofa, unable to meet his eyes. He was failing. This wasn’t Sam coming back to him and he was pissing all over Sam’s dying wish by being back here at all. But what was he supposed to do? Let this thing come for him? Let it get Ben and Lisa? That just wasn’t going to happen. Still, all of this felt like failure. Big surprise.

Cas appeared in the front room as Lisa came back downstairs, her arm around Ben’s shoulders.

“So what do we do now?” Ben asked excitedly. “What’s after us?”

Dean rolled his eyes. Maybe he didn’t have any more sense than Dean had had at that age. “Cas? You got…uhh, business upstairs?”

Cas nodded. “The house and land is secure. I will be back as soon as I can.” And he blinked out again.

“That is so cool.” Ben breathed.

“Well, I think I can scrape up a frozen pizza or two.” Bobby said, scratching at his beard “Wasn’t expecting company or I’d have gone shopping.”

“That sounds perfect, thank you.” Lisa smiled.

 

* * * * *

 

Castiel felt the wash of power sweep through his being as he stepped into Heaven, a welcoming chime echoing in his grace.

He had entered Ebele Sekibo’s Heaven, specifically. The small West African boy had died in the early sixteen-hundreds when he was just eleven. A famine after a particularly vast swarm of locust swept across that part of the continent decimated the tribes that called the grasslands home. He and three of his siblings, his father and two nieces had all perished, leaving his mother and a few other survivors behind. It was a sad story, but most were, in the end.

Ebele sat atop a tiny bluff, the highest hill for miles around, the shade of a single acacia protecting him from the morning sun. Below him dozens of wildebeest, zebra, and roan antelope grazed placidly on the lush honey-colored grasses. Elephants and giraffe plucked leaves from the acacia with delicate trunks and tongues, rustling the branches overhead. The scent of cooking fires and warm dust floated on the breeze. A pack of painted dogs lounged in a shallow dip, their pups gambolling and yipping in a spirited game. A jackal chased a fire finch as it flitted from stone to bush, catching jewel-bright insects in its beak.Rhim gazelle sipped delicately from a silvery pool beneath a wide flat rock where a lioness lay dozing. Ebele watched them, a beatific smile on his face as his fingers braided knots into the grass.

Castiel stood beside him, waiting. It was some time - or no time - before a half dozen wingbeats sounded and his brothers were with him. Hannah, Balthazar and Samandriel stood alongside him, looking out over this tiny paradise.

“Castiel.” Hannah said, ignoring Ebele and the beauty of his Heaven. She had chosen not to inhabit a physical form, and the energy that rippled out of her being was tinged with annoyance. “Where have you been?”

“Searching for our Father.” Casitel lied. Once, he was sure, the lie would have shown. Deception was so unnatural to the makeup on an angel that any attempt at it would have been a glaring blot in his grace, plain to all. But he’d told Ben and Dean the truth; since his fall he had become well-versed in deception, at least as far as angels went towards the effort. He had given up _actually_ searching for God, but he continued to follow the path he felt his father had opened for him. He grabbed hold of that conviction, of his absolute certainty that he _had_ to keep the cage closed, had to keep Dean Winchester safe, had to honor Sam Winchester’s sacrifice by seeing it through, that God had allowed him to chose this path. He pushed that certainty to the forefront and let it shine as his truth.

Hannah’s grace rippled, satisfied. “Raphael continues to site your absence from Heaven as a sign that you are no longer fit to inhabit it, let alone rule it.” She informed him. “You need to increase your presence here.”

Castiel tamped down on his irritation. He did not _want_ to rule Heaven. He didn’t want to rule anything. That was not the message he was trying to spread, but it seemed to be the only message his siblings could hear.

“We need a leader.” Balthazar offered, glancing at Ebele’s dreamy smile. The older seraph was curled up on his haunches, his glittering wings slowly caressing long grass. Eyes slitted like a cat’s peered at Castiel from over a wide mouth lined with dagger-like teeth and a long cloak of golden feathers fell like water to his clawed feet. “We’re used to taking orders. It’s not something you are going to change overnight.” His tail swished, flattening several yards of grass.

“I know.” Castiel sighed. He looked to Samandriel, taking in the weaker seraph. Thinking of Dean and his description of how angels must look in Heaven, Castiel looked Samandriel over. It would be difficult to put the form Samadriel inhabited into terms that a human could comprehend, but Dean’s idea of eyes and wings was not entirely inaccurate. A swirl of feathers - or rather, the impression of feathers - masked the core of his grace, and awareness shone out in every direction, rather like eyes.

“Do you believe I am unfit?” Castiel asked Samandriel. The weaker seraph fluttered, unsure, but his voice came soft and liquid.

“I believe you are changed.” Samandriel sang. Castiel startled and wondered when he himself had begun to speak rather than sing, even here in what had for so long been his home. “You are not like us anymore, not entirely.”

“No.” Castiel agreed. Of course he wasn’t. The events of the past year had changed him more profoundly than a thousand thousand that had come before. “But do you believe I am tainted?”

Samandriel shivered, a lick of grace twining out to brush against Castiel’s wing. It rang in Castiel’s mind like a chorus of bells, raced through his being like ice and flame. “No.”

Castiel embraced the tiny spark Samandriel had offered, fed it his affection and gratitude and sent it back to him.

“Samandriel has met with you. But you cannot meet with every angel in creation, not if you insist on continuing this search of yours.” Hannah told him.

“I cannot give up on this.” Castiel told her. “I am convinced it is my purpose.”

Hannah was silent, but the darkening roil of her grace expressed her dissatisfaction.

“What about this meeting?” Balthazar asked, watching Hannah. “With Raphael.”

“I am prepared to meet with Raphael.” Castiel assured him.

“To what end?” Balthazar asked. “We know what he plans to offer you. You do not intend to accept, do you?”

Castiel let his denial shine without words. Hannah chimed back, urging caution. “You should think on it.” She cautioned. “It is being said that Raphael plans to offer you Virgil’s assistance in your protection of mankind. It would be possible with his help to prepare so many more for what would come.”

Castiel balked, his grace swelling with indignation. “I should think on it?” he grated, his tone harsh and clanging. Below him the animals flicked their ears, the birds fluttering in the breeze of his anger. Ebele paused, his expression falling. “What is there to think about?”

“I meant-“ Hanna began but Castiel cut her off. 

“If I agree to this I am throwing away all that I have learned, all that I have come to believe!” Castiel swelled. The fire finch fled, the gazelle leaping as the jackal cowering under the acacia branches. Samadriel shrank away, Balthazar huddled his wings closer about himself. Hannah quailed. “Raphael refuses to see the will of God for what it is, and you would have me sacrifice _billions_ to appease him?” he demanded, outraged.

“How many of us will die in his war?” Balthazar asked, low and echoing. Castiel paused. “If you refuse him flat out you risk that war beginning almost immediately.”

“I do not mean that you should agree to it. I mean that you should consider it.” Hannah intoned.

Castiel dimmed, letting his anger swirl and dissolve. The roan began to graze, the zebra lowering their heads to sip from the pool again. “Explain.”

“As you have said before, his offer is designed to make you look unreasonable in the eyes of those among us who haven’t spent much time among mankind. If you reject him flat out, especially when he is offering so valuable an ally as Virgil, you will look even more unreasonable.”

Samandriel fluttered nervously as Castiel turned his attention on the young seraph. “What would you think, were I to reject this offer Raphael plans to put to me?”

“If I knew nothing of you I would struggle to understand.” Samandriel chimed. “But knowing what I do of your time on Earth, about the path our Father has laid out for you, I think I can see why you would be unwilling to allow Raphael to continue with this course.”

“As I said,” Hannah joined, “you must increase your presence here. It is only by knowing _you_ , by hearing _you,_ that any will agree to follow you.”

Castiel let the frustration roll through him, dissipating into the grass. “Very well.” He agreed. “I will _consider_ this offer. And I will do what I can to walk among our kind more often. But I _can’t_ give up my search.” His conviction glowed fiercely. “It’s too important.” Hannah vibrated, a little tremor Castiel couldn’t interpret. Samandriel fluttered.

Balthazar peered at Castiel, cat-like eyes narrowing. Castiel wondered if Hannah or Samandriel would recognize the physical signs of suspicion. “It would certainly solve the question of our father’s will if he were here to tell us himself.” Balthazar allowed.

Castiel flared in agreement, his wings shifting. “Hannah, go.” He murmured. “Tell… my _followers,”_ his voice hummed discordantly at the word, “that I shall speak with them at dawn tomorrow at the edge of the garden. I doubt Raphael would come close enough to Joshua’s sanctuary to interfere with us there. Ask them to bring any who would listen.”

“Of course, Castiel.” Hannah agreed and disappeared.

Balthazar stretched his wings, casting shimmering shadows across the grass and brushing softly over Ebele’s brow. “It’s going to be a rough road dragging angels out of the old order and into your new world, Castiel.” He sighed.

Castiel sighed back. “It is not _my_ world, Balthazar.” He explained. “That is the whole point. We can think for ourselves now. Choose for ourselves. Our Father has given us _all_ the world.”

“Mhmm.” Balthazar agreed easily. “And even I struggle with that idea some days, though I’ve spent millennia down there. All I’m saying is don’t expect too much from us too quickly. Hannah’s a little uptight but she’s right. You have to _lead_ us to freedom if you ever want us to see it.”

“I would let the process take eons if I could, but Raphael is forcing my hand. I need the others to see why his way is evil, why letting him destroy the miracle that happened at Stull is unacceptable.”

“We-“ Samandriel stuttered, his awareness flaring out in all directions. “It frightens us.” He murmured. “To be… alone. To choose. It is… difficult. Wrong.”

“It is _not_ wrong.” Castiel intoned, trying to keep his voice gentle so as not to harm the weaker angel.

“It _feels_ wrong.” Samandriel hummed. “It feels other. We were made to obey and we fear falling. We want, above all, to remain faithful to our father, even if obedience is no longer his plan for us. Your new path caused you to fall, and even if Father led you back home that is a frightening example to follow.”

Castiel let his wings brush over Samandriel, calming. The younger seraph shivered delightedly. “I understand.” Castiel murmured. “It was… painful. And hideous. And terrifying. But it was my _choice._ I fell knowingly, doing what I believed was the _right_ thing to do. It was not Father’s will I followed, but my own conscience. I do not ask anyone to fall - especially not for me - but I believe _that_ is what our father wants for us.”

Samandriel curled around Balthazar, taking shelter in the shadow of the greater angel’s wings. “I won’t say I understand, but I admire.” He murmured. “It is a hard duty our father has placed on you.”

“It is a _gift_ , Samandriel.” Castiel told him. “Choice is a duty, but it is also a gift.”

“Save it for the others.” Balthazar told him, nudging Samandriel with his wings and grinning at Castiel. “We will gather as many as we can and meet you at the borders of the garden at dawn.”

“Thank you, Balthazar.” Castiel let his gratitude flow outward, washing over the pair as he stepped back through the ether toward Sioux Falls.

 

* * * * *

 

Dinner was even more bizarre than Dean would have thought possible. He caught Ben poking at a crossbow propped in the corner of the living room and spent ten minutes making absolutely sure Ben knew how slowly and carefully Dean would peel his skin off if he caught him touching a single weapon again. Normally he didn’t threaten the kid, remembering all too well John’s early lessons in weapon safety and how they’d scared the bejeezus out of him and Sam, but he wanted to make dead sure Ben wasn’t going to accidentally blow his own foot off.

“Mom, are you going to let him say that stuff to me?” Ben seemed more amazed than afraid, his wide eyes turning to Lisa where she was setting Bobby’s rickety kitchen table with paper plates.

“You bet your ass I am.” She nodded. “And he only gets to do that stuff to you if he’s the one that catches you messing with these things. If it’s me it’ll be much worse, trust me.” Ben gulped theatrically and carefully backed away from the crossbow.

Bobby chuckled. As he shoved a couple pizzas into his stuttering old oven Cas appeared, looking frazzled. Which for Cas amounted to a couple twitchy fingers and a slight frown.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “What’s up?”

“Politics.” Cas grumbled, clearly annoyed. Dean nodded for him to go on but Cas shook his head. Bobby clapped him on the shoulder, startling the angel.

“Good to see you, Castiel.” Bobby said sincerely and Cas cracked a tiny smile.

Lisa and Ben finished setting the table while Bobby made an effort to find clean silverware and glasses. Cas stood around looking bored, occasionally staring fixedly at one or another of them until Dean cleared his throat to remind him how creepy humans found that.

When the pizza was ready they sat down to eat, Ben asking with a sly glance at Castiel if they were going to say grace. Dean shook his head with a laugh and Cas didn’t comment.

Lisa handed Cas a piece of meat-lovers and he took it, looking confused.

“I don’t eat.” Cas informed her. Lisa blinked.

“Just go with it, Cas.” Dean smiled. Cas sniffed at it, taking a tiny bite and chewing thoughtfully. Dean couldn’t think of the last time he’d seen the angel eat. He remembered the first well enough, though.

“Jimmy’s probably pretty happy to be having meat again, hu Cas?” Dean joked, trying unsuccessfully to diffuse the tension. Bobby snorted and Lisa smiled quizzically, pushing a slice of veggie onto Ben’s plate.

Cas’s blue eyes turned up from his plate, confusion and sadness mixing in them. “Jimmy’s soul passed on at Stull.” He said gravely. “He came back with me after the incident at Chuck Shurley’s home but not the second time. I don’t know why. He has been in Heaven for some time, now. I have visited him. I only retain the use of an empty vessel.”

“Right.” Dean cringed, both with guilt for Jimmy’s fate and the fact that Lisa was choking on her crust. Bobby shook his head.

“What’s a vessel?” Ben asked eagerly.

Cas caught Dean’s eye and quirked an eyebrow. Dean shrugged, not sure how it could hurt.

“Angels cannot walk the earth as men can. Our true forms are quite… disconcerting.” Dean snorted. ‘Disconcerting’ seemed a bit tame for a behemoth being of pure white heavenly energy.

“That’s one word for it.” Bobby muttered, clearly agreeing.

“Like your voice making people deaf?” Ben recalled.

“Precisely.” Cas smiled. Dean wondered if Ben could tell the difference between regular Cas and smiling Cas. It was hard for most people. “My true visage would boil the eyes from a mortal’s sockets-“

“Woah, Cas,” Dean waved his napkin at him, “TMI man, we’re eating.”

“Of course.” Cas ducked his head in apology before continuing. “In order for us to interact with most humans we need to take on a vessel, the body of a human being.”

“You possess someone?” Ben asked, his hand flying to the talisman at his neck as though ready to rip it off and invite the angel in.

“In a manner of speaking.” Cas allowed, shifting uncomfortably. “It doesn’t have to be human. I once possessed a very gracious alpaca in what is now Chile in the third century.”

Dean coughed into his water glass. “A what?” he spluttered.

“An alpaca. It’s a camelid indigenous to the mountains of South America.” Cas explained.

“Why on earth would you possess one?” Dean asked, mystified.

“I needed to speak to another alpaca. It’s usually most effective to take a vessel of the same species to communicate with mortals.”

Dean just stared.

“We do, however, have to be given permission to enter.” Cas continued, turning his attention back to Ben. “I spoke to Jimmy Novak for a long time before he agreed to allow me to use this form.”

Dean pointed his fork at Ben sternly. “And if any angel besides Cas ever asks to possess you, you say ‘hell no’ and run as fast as you can, got it kid?” Ben nodded but Dean didn’t trust the curious glint in his eye. Bobby cast Dean a meaningful look.

“I recognize that face.” He muttered.

“I invented that face.” Dean agreed morosely.

“I thought you objected to my inhabitation of Jimmy.” Cas commented, his forehead crinkling in confusion. “Are you saying Ben should allow me in if I requested to use him as a vessel?”

Dean looked at him. “Well,” he paused, wondering if that was what he’d meant. When exactly had he accepted Cas’s possession as fine, totally acceptable? A long time ago, apparently. “Uhm, yeah. I know you need to have a certain kind of person, or bloodline or whatever, but… I mean at first it seemed pretty messed up. Just taking a guy over like that, but you’re one of the good guys, Cas. Have been. For a long time now. You took care of Jimmy, didn’t you? You took care of us.”

Cas’s smile was definitely noticeable this time. “Thank you, Dean.” He said quietly. Dean caught Lisa studying him and ducked his head. He wasn’t sure what she was reading on his face but he was pretty sure he didn’t want her reading it.

“Jimmy was a good guy.” He allowed, poking at his second slice. “Poor bastard.”

“He was a pious man.” Castiel agreed. “And a very good one.”

“What happened at Stull?” Ben asked. Lisa frowned but seemed as eager to hear the answer as her son.

“L-“ Cas glanced at Dean and bit his lip. “Someone,” he back-pedalled, “was attempting to kill me,” Cas explained in his usual blasé tone, as if it happened every day. Which, Dean supposed, it pretty much did since Cas had started hanging out with him. “I had agreed to help Dean with a somewhat foolhardy plan.” he paused, twitching his eyebrows up at Dean before clearing his throat. “This someone succeeded. Jimmy’s soul escaped when my vessel was destroyed, and me along with it.”

Ben gasped. “He destroyed you?”

Cas nodded. “Angels cannot exactly be killed. Instead we are wiped from reality, our grace snuffed out of existence.” Dean squirmed in his seat, reminded of just how much he owed Cas for all the shit he’d put him through.

“Why was someone trying to kill you?”

Cas locked eyes with Dean, replying evasively, “Many reasons.”

“But, you’re here now.” Ben pointed out.

“I was brought back, revived.” Cas shrugged.

“Twice.” Added Dean, wrestling down the vision of Lucifer sending Cas out in a spray of blood and teeth. He and Bobby traded pained glances. Dean fought off the sound of Bobby’s neck snapping as it echoed in his memory.

“How?” Ben asked eagerly.

“I don’t know.” Cas admitted. “I believe it was the work of God.”

“Ok, this conversation’s getting a bit deep for dinner so let’s move on, shall we?” Dean handed Lisa another beer with an apologetic smile.

“Have you met God?” Ben asked, his eyes swinging to Dean. “I mean, the real god?”

Bobby scoffed. “A lot of gods are real, kid.”

Dean nodded. “But if you mean Cas’s god, no. He and I don’t get along very well.” Cas frowned but let the comment pass, taking another bite of pizza.

“Anyway, Jimmy loved meat. Burgers. I got to meet him once when Cas was… busy.” He nodded at Cas, a silent apology for bringing up his trip to Bible Camp. “He ate three big macs in twenty minutes, skinny little guy that he was.”

“Jimmy Novak was actually above average height.” Cas commented. “It was only next to you and Sam that he looked small.”

“Yeah well,” Dean croaked, his throat threatening to close up.

“Bigfoot looked scrawny next to Sam.” Bobby supplied gruffly.

They fell silent until the plates were cleared and thrown in the trash. They moved back to the front room where Lisa settled on the couch, reaching out to Ben when he tried to take the seat beside her.

“I need you to go upstairs now, baby.” She said, taking his hands. “Dean and I need to talk.”

“Mom, you can’t leave me out of this!” he protested shrilly.

“I’m not leaving you out of it. I will tell you what you need to know tomorrow. Right now, I need to talk to Dean and you need to go to your room.” The brimstone was back in her voice and Ben knew better than to argue. He rolled his eyes and hung his shoulders in a pout, but trudged up the stairs.

When Dean heard the not-quite-slam of his door he turned to Cas. “Could you, um, mojo that so he can’t listen through? Cone of silence or something?”

“Of course.” Cas made a vague gesture.

“Right, thanks man.”

“You’re welcome Dean.” Cas was staring again and Dean wondered if Cas could see him about to jump out of his own skin. Figuring it would be easier with a little lubrication, Dean snagged a couple beers from the fridge and set them on the end table. Lisa sat expectantly on the couch, her gaze no less fixed than Cas’s and Dean fought the urge to bolt.

“Take it you haven’t been sharing and caring, hu kid?” Bobby guessed, digging in the drawer of his desk for a bottle of scotch. Dean shook his head when the old hunter motioned towards a whiskey glass. He owed Lisa a mostly sober explanation, at least.

Dean hadn’t meant to leave Lisa in the dark. He had planned to tell her everything, all the sick, twisted details of his fucked up life and how it had led him, broken and alone, to her doorstep. He just thought he’d have more time. Work up to it. He supposed he should have known that was wishful thinking. After all, when had the world ever gone easy on him?

“Listen, Lis,” he began, striding nervously across the room only to pause when he ran out of words. Two. He was off to a great start. “Ugh, I should have just given you the books.” He muttered to no one in particular.

“What books?” Lisa asked gently, glancing at Bobby as he stifled a chuckle in his glass.

“Nevermind.” Dean sighed, leaning against the doorframe. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it right. Just rip the bandaid off.

“Ok.” He bounced his fist against his thigh. “So you know Sammy and I were hunters, and you know that we had a lot of run-ins with demons…”

“Among other things.” Lisa said, eyeing Castiel. She still seemed caught somewhere between awe and irritation.

“Yeah… well… it gets a hell of a lot more complicated.”

“There’s an understatement.” Bobby chimed in helpfully. Dean shot him a dirty look.

“Why don’t you start with why you know angels?” Lisa suggested. “And why you only apparently like the one of them.” Cas cocked his head at this, his eyes trailing over Dean’s face searchingly.

Dean sighed, folding and unfolding his hands nervously. “Starting with the good stuff, I guess.” He couldn’t look her in the eye. “You remember that day that I showed up at your door, talking about happiness?” One look at her face told him what a stupid question that was. “Of course you remember.” He muttered, rubbing his knuckles. He glanced at Cas and found his stare had grown even more intense. Not really the support he was looking for but somehow oddly comforting.

He took a deep breath and let it out, unable to help glancing guiltily at Cas and Bobby. “That day, was the day I decided to give the angels what they wanted.”

Cas drew in a sharp breath, his blue eyes flashing in a mixture of rage and sorrow. “The day you almost said yes to Michael.” He grated. Bobby growled low in his throat and Cas’s shoulders bunched angrily beneath his coat. Dean felt a crackle of energy snap through the room. The hairs on the backs of his arms stood up. The air tightened against his face and even Lisa seemed to feel the change. She shrank back against the dusty cushions, eyes wide on the angel.

“Easy, Feathers.” Bobby warned, sitting forward.

“Cas.” Dean murmured calmly, holding his empty hands out and keeping his face soft. The way he would with a wild animal, a feral dog. “I didn’t go through with it, remember?” Cas blinked, shaking himself visibly. His jaw remained tense but he breathed deeply through his nose, offering Dean a tight nod of acknowledgement. The air loosened again.

Lisa glanced between the two of them, drawing her knees up onto the couch and wrapping her arms around them protectively. “Who’s Michael? Said yes to what?” she asked cautiously.

Dean waited until Cas’s body had softened, his stormy expression clearing slightly before Dean shook his head, still embarrassed at his weakness that day. He turned back to Lisa, an apology she wouldn’t understand in his eyes. “I was going to allow an archangel to possess me.” He explained. “I thought it was the only way to stop what I had started.”

Lisa waited for him to continue but when it became clear he had stalled again she prompted him gently. “What had you started?”

Dean couldn’t have asked for a more dramatic intro to his whole fucked-up history than that, he supposed. “The Apocalypse.”

Lisa pursed her lips like she was trying not to laugh. “The Apocalypse.” She repeated.

“Yeah.” Dean chuckled mirthlessly. “End of days, Hell on Earth. Apocalypse.”

There was a completely inappropriate sparkle in her eye. “That’s impressive, Dean. Even for you.”

He snorted and Bobby laughed. Another thing to love about Lisa, her ability to laugh at his ridiculous bullshit. “Yeah. Well. I had help.”

“Sam?” she guessed, her voice gentle as it always was when she said that name. Her eyes turned liquid and she unwound herself to move into his space. Her hand found his elbow and he rested his over the back of it, letting her have the illusion of comfort.

Her hands were so thin, so pretty. He’d always liked her hands. “Sort of.” He admitted.

“And how did the two of you start the apocalypse?”

“There were these seals. Sixty-six seals that had to be broken for it all to kick off, for Lucifer to rise.” A swell of self-loathing so thick and black he could barely breathe rose up inside him, “I was the first one.”

Lisa looked confused. “What do you mean? You were a seal?”

It was like dragging razors through his insides, pulling all this up again (and he had the benefit of Hell-time experience to know the comparison was an accurate one). But Lisa was right. She deserved the whole story. Dean forced himself to keep going. “I made a deal, when Sammy died the first time-“

“Woah!” Lisa exclaimed, cutting her hand through the air as if to put him on pause. “The first time? How often does he die?”

“A bunch.” Dean admitted with a twisted smile at Bobby, who nodded his agreement. “I’ve still got him beat on that after Gabriel down in Florida.”

“You’ve died before?” Lisa looked like she might be sick, and Dean didn’t know what to do but rub his hands guiltily on his jeans.

“A few dozen times, yeah.” Bobby supplied helpfully.

“A few DOZEN?” She leapt to her feet. Cas stepped forward as Lisa stormed across the room but Dean waved him off. Lisa had a right to her anger. He kept his voice mellow and looked her in the eye.

“Maybe hundreds. I don’t know. Look, Lis, I know it’s a lot to take in but I haven’t even scratched the surface yet. This is why I haven’t told you all this crap yet. It’s… big.”

“Dean!” Lisa exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air. “You didn’t think I might like to know that you have died on multiple occasions?”

“She is not truly angry with you.” Cas explained calmly. “She is alarmed at the thought of losing you and that she apparently came very close to doing so on multiple occasions. She is also worried that you do not think enough of your own well-being. She is right, on that point, as I have often said.”

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean sighed. Lisa just stared at the angel, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“No,” she mumbled finally, reseating herself. Her hands twisted in her lap as she offered Cas a weak smile. “He’s right. I’m sorry. This isn’t about me. It’s just a lot.”

“I know.” Dean hung his head. “Believe me, I know.” He really did. Saying it all out loud just brought home how unbelievably ridiculous his life - or maybe lives - had been. She was taking it about as well as could be expected. She hadn’t punched him yet, anyway.

Lisa inhaled long and slow and shook her hair off her shoulders. “So, you said you broke a seal by making a deal?”

“Not exactly.” Dean sighed. He took one last moment to savor the trust in her eyes, the concern before he told her what he really was. Surprisingly, Cas stepped over to put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, his fingers warm through the fabric of Dean’s over-shirt. Even more surprising, Dean didn’t immediately shake it off. Instead he placed his own hand over it, the rough skin on the pads of his fingers catching on Cas’s smooth knuckles. He let his eyes fall to his boots as he took a breath and admitted what he was. “I made a deal with a demon.” He refused to whisper, and his voice came out in a choking grunt. “My soul in exchange for Sammy’s life.”

For a solid minute not even the air seemed to move. Dean couldn’t bear to look up, and barrelled on as soon as he had the strength to draw breath. The solid weight of Cas’s hand anchored him to the spot, forced him to face this moment head on. “I had a year to figure something out and then my soul was sent to Hell. A demon called Lilith wanted to bring Lucifer back topside and Sam and I spent a year trying to chase her down. I failed. She sent her dogs after me - hellhounds - they caught me, dragged me to Hell.”

He could still feel that first rip of claw into flesh. It was just a tickle compared to what came after, but it still made his heart leap in remembered terror.

A broken little hitch drew him back up to where tears were pooling in Lisa’s eyes. “Dean,” she whispered, reaching for him. He flinched away, angry at her tears.

“I did shit, Lisa.” He snapped, wanting her to understand. “I was a fucking monster down there. That’s what broke the seal, me not being strong enough.”

Cas gripped his shoulder hard, forcing green eyes up to blue. “You endured thirty years under one of the most skilled torturers Hell has ever produced, Dean.” He scolded.

“And I fucking broke, man.” Dean spat, glaring up at the angel. He couldn’t wash away what Dean had done and Dean wasn’t about to let him try. He jumped up, his hands itching to punch something, shoot something, cut something’s head off. “I broke and I turned into something twisted and evil and…”

“Dean, it was Hell!” Lisa exclaimed in an eery repetition of what Sam had said all those months ago. She was already jumping up to wrap her arms around him. Cas stepped away, and Dean instantly missed the solidity of his touch. He held perfectly still, unable to resist her misplaced urge to comfort no matter how desperately he wanted to throw her off. “Oh, Dean.” Lisa held him, stroking his hair like she did Ben’s and murmuring soothing nonsense. Dean figured it was more about calming herself than him, so he let her do it, waiting patiently and trying to control his shaking body until she finally sat back.

“Dean spilling blood in Hell was the first of the seals to break.” Cas picked up the story, his eyes still on Dean and completely unreadable.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, wishing Lisa wouldn’t look at him with such sadness in her eyes. He didn’t want it, didn’t deserve it. Instead he focused on the corner of Cas’s trench-coat where it brushed against the chair. “I was there another ten years before Cas came and yanked me out.”

Lisa looked up at the angel in wonder and Cas stared back, a tiny smile hidden behind his lips. “You did that?” she whispered reverently.

“I was part of a large garrison sent to retrieve the Righteous Man.” Cas didn’t miss how Dean flinched at the title but pressed on. “I reached him first.”

“He pulled me out, chucked me back in my body and left me to dig my way out of my own grave.” Dean’s smile was a raw and bloody thing.

“I had to leave you until I found a vessel.” Cas reminded him, twitching an eyebrow humorously. “It became clear quite quickly that if I were to stay with you I would not be able to use my true form. You’ll recall how I tried to communicate with you at the time.”

“Tinitis is a bitch.” Bobby agreed with a wink, rubbing his ear.

“So,” The look on Lisa’s face said clearly that she couldn’t believe the sentence coming out of her mouth and Dean bit his lip to ward off a hysterical laugh, “Sam being back from the dead isn’t a good thing?”

“No.” Cas and Dean said together immediately.

Lisa didn’t flinch. “Why not? I mean, if angels can bring people back, doesn’t that mean he is supposed to be here?”

“If it were possible I would have been the first to retrieve Sam Winchester’s soul and bring him back to earth.” Cas’s voice was as close to bitterness as Dean had ever heard it. He frowned in frustration and Dean immediately cut that shit off.

“Not your fault, dude.” He snapped. Cas clenched his jaw but didn’t respond, simply held Dean’s eyes like he’d done a hundred times before.

“I don’t get it.” Lisa protested. “Dean, if you were in Hell and they went and got you out, why couldn’t they do the same for your brother?”

Dean gave her a small, feeble smile. “There’s a bit more to it. Sammy died…” Maybe if he said it fast it would sting less. “Sammy-died-dragging-Lucifer-down-into-the-deepest-part-of-hell.”

Hu. Nope, still hurt like a bitch. Cas’s hand was back on his shoulder and Dean was insanely grateful for the grounding pressure.

“I…” Lisa just sat blinking for a solid minute. “I’m sorry, Dean, but I’m going to need you to explain that.” She sounded genuinely sorry, too. Like asking him to qualify a completely insane statement was an unreasonable request. Hu.

“Well, it started when we were kids. Or, I guess a lot earlier than that, really.” Over the next hour Dean slowly explained the higher and lower points of the last four or five years of his life, Bobby and Castiel chiming in from time to time on details he’d forgotten. He told her about Sammy’s weird demon powers to his father sacrificing himself to Yellow-Eyes. He told her what he’d learned about his parents’ past, Azaezel’s plan, and the devil’s gate. He told her about travelling through time, Adam, Michael and Zach, the Trickster.

“Turned out the Trickster was actually Gabriel, the archangel. He’d gone into hiding a few millennia ago and been kicking around disguised as a douchebag godling.”

“Why would Gabriel leave Heaven?” Lisa asked, and Dean shot Cas an apologetic look. It was supposed to be Dean’s family under the microscope, not Cas’s.

Cas smiled softly. “I did not know him as well as some of my other brothers and sisters, but Gabriel always felt that we needed to have more fun, be more loving to one another.”

“Loving?” Dean asked incredulously. “Gotta say, he didn’t seem like Mr. Touchy-feely when he was murdering me over and over and making Sammy watch.”

Cas rolled his eyes. “You don’t even remember most of that,” he reminded Dean dismissively “and Gabriel’s brand of affection has always been a bit more… fierce. I believe that he left us because he could not stand to see his family destroying itself, and because he knew that if he stayed, someday he would have to choose a side.”

“Said as much when we had him trapped, and on that porno he left behind.” Dean agreed, smiling at Lisa’s confusion. “He was a good guy, in the end. For an angel, anyway.”

Cas quirked a smile and drifted back toward the window, his gaze distant. Dean let him have a few moments to himself, carrying on the story for Lisa. By the time he got to Sam’s plan and his struggle to control Lucifer she had her hand pressed to her mouth and there were tears in her eyes. He knew his voice had gone dead, his arms felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds each, pulling him down through the floor. Forcing his shoulders back he kept going. Through Chicago, out to Stull. Saying goodbye to Cas and Bobby, his refusal to let Sam die alone. The tears ran freely, his and Lisa’s, even Bobby’s, until his voice ran out.

He couldn’t say it, couldn’t allow the dip and swell of language on his tongue to make it real again. He couldn’t do anything but watch it play out in his mind over and over, a looping video he couldn’t escape. The steel grey sky hanging low over the blackened gravestones. The skeletal fingers of the autumn-dry grass fracturing under his boots. Lucifer’s snide expression twisting the muscles of Sam’s face. Michael snatching Adam’s shoulders back in stiff disdain. Holy fire. Bobby’s neck, Cas’s blood, Sam’s knuckles over and over and over…

“Dean.” Cas’s voice, a pair of cool fingers at his temple, ripping him out of the memory and back into Lisa’s living room.

He gulped in a painful gasp, feeling like a giant fist was tightening around his ribs. His lungs were full of sand, too heavy to expand properly. Lisa was staring at him, her eyes huge and full of sympathy he didn’t want, couldn’t stand. Cas was at his shoulder, his fingers still resting gently at the edge of his brow. Bobby was there, pressing a cup of whiskey into his hands with a grim expression.

“In the end,” Cas said softly, his eyes fixed on Dean’s heaving shoulders, “Sam was stronger than we knew. He broke Lucifer’s control over him, held him at bay long enough to call up the portal and jump.”

“Oh.” The tiny sound that escaped from Lisa’s throat was drenched in admiration and sorrow. Her fingers wavered over her parted lips, a tiny tremor shaking fresh tears loose from her lashes. She looked like a scene from a comic book: woman mourns fallen hero. “Oh, Sam.”

“We owe him everything.” Cas agreed, his fingers running softly over the shell of Dean’s ear as he drew his hand away. Dean was barely aware of the gentle touch, barely aware of anything but the bright-hot pain in his heart. “Michael tried to stop him, and was dragged down as well. The portal sealed and I was resurrected to find Dean bloodied and alone, Bobby Singer dead. Without Dean’s interference-“

“Don’t, Cas.” Dean barked harshly, whipping his head up.

Lisa jumped back, startled at the vicious bite of his words. But Cas stood unruffled, blinking down at him almost serenely. Dean wanted to hit him, to punch his knuckles bloody against the angel’s un-dentable face. He wanted to kill something, to stab and slash and shoot until the weight in his heart finally dragged him to the ground. He wanted to run far and fast until his lungs burst bloody from his chest. Anything, anything to make this stop. To stop the shriek, shriek, shriek of guilt rocketing around in his skull.

“Dean.” Cas’s soft voice was a knife in his ribs.

“Don’t.” Dean repeated, all the vile, black things crawling through his chest snaking their way into his tone.

“So,” Lisa ventured finally, “If Sam’s back, that means-“

“The cage has been breached.” Cas finished for her. “And if that’s true the world is once again in the midst of the Apocalypse.”

Dean couldn’t quite squash the sick impulse to snap a picture of Lisa’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEWLY UPDATED! This chapter now contains a clearly demarcated new section that follows Cas. Sorry it took so long, my writing program died for a few weeks and took a lot of my work with it. Should be back on track now.


	9. What is Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening: Skin & Bones - David J. Roch
> 
> “My soul has flown  
> And I am what is left.  
> I am skin and bones.”

Dean leaned heavily on the railing of Bobby’s front porch. His sawed-off was propped beside his knees and a warm beer in his hand. The glow of crumpled aluminium and steel in the moonlight sort of looked like waves as he stared out over the scrapyard, letting the breeze send cool fingers over the sweat beading on the back of his neck. The fresh air burned against the tear-tracks scored into his cheeks, felt frigid in his hollowed-out chest. After the words had run out Lisa had headed up to check on Ben and Bobby buried himself in research again, his own eyes looking watery and red. Dean had taken the opportunity to slip outside and pull himself together. Or fall apart, really. He felt jagged, flayed open.

He tried to remember the days when a stiff drink and a bar fight was enough to clear his head. Maybe a roll in the sheets with some cute bartender. Once upon a time that had been all it took to buck Dean Winchester back up into his wise-cracking, ass-kicking self. But that was before. Before Hell. Before he’d become one of the things he hunted, one of the things that hurt people. One of the things that killed his mom. There weren’t any quick fixes anymore, no bandaids to stick this shitty skin he dragged on every morning back together. There was nothing that could erase how badly he’d fucked up, how far he’d let Sam down, even for a couple hours. Still, that didn’t stop him wishing he had a hunt. Something he could take down on his own. A ghost, a vampire or two. Something he could stab. That was all he was good for anymore. Maybe it always had been.

“Dean.” Cas didn’t bother to open the door, just poofed through.

“You sure like having your mojo back, hu Cas?” Dean grated, leaning over the rail to flick his bottle cap into the bushes. He didn’t turn around and Cas didn’t come any closer.

“It is safer inside the house.” Cas said. Dean wondered if he would have caught the tone of disapproval two years ago. Probably not. “There are many more layers of wards there than on the land.”

“I’m not going far.” Dean assured him. “Just… had to get out of there for a minute.”

They stood in silence for a long, slow moment before Cas spoke. “You found it painful recounting your history to Lisa.” He observed. Dean was going to have to teach him how to turn his creepily direct statements into questions. It would be more conversational and less… confessional.

“You could say that, yeah.” Dean snarked, trying to yank the shredded ribbons of himself together into something resembling a human. It wasn’t working very well.

Cas said nothing for a while, just standing silently while Dean sipped his whiskey. When he did speak, it was so gentle Dean almost missed it. “It isn’t your fault, Dean.”

So they were going to talk about it, then. Dean snarled into his beer. “Don’t try that Good Will Hunting bullshit on me, ok Cas? ”

Cas ignored him. “None of it is. Certainly not breaking the first seal. No one else would have lasted half so long in Alastair’s keeping.” He continued mercilessly.

Dean felt tears prick in his eyes. A-fucking-gain. Goddamn Cas, always trying to give him a pep talk. Even though he knew what Dean was. He’d seen Dean in Hell, seen the blackened husk of a soul he had morphed into. He’d seen the flash of the knife in his twisted hand, the spark of glee as he plunged it into another soul. Cas had watched over him since he got back to Earth, too. He had watched Dean drive Sammy away, drive him right at Ruby. He’d seen the emptiness that ate Dean from the inside out in that alley in Detroit. Hell, he’d been listening to his goddamn pathetic prayers for six months now. Neither of them had mentioned it yet - in fact Dean had been doing his damnedest to pretend none of it had ever passed his lips - but he knew Cas had heard. Cas had watched Dean fail over and over, watched him let Sam die. How could Cas still think he was anything close to righteous?

“Dad did.” Dean whispered.

“What?” Dean could hear Cas’s head tilt.

Dean didn’t look up, instead studying the strangely plastic-looking leaves of Bobby’s winding old azaleas. He plucked one to see if it felt as fake as it looked. “Dad lasted a hundred years and never broke, never stopped telling the son of a bitch to go fuck himself when he was offered the knife.” Cas frowned, stepping up into Dean’s personal space and forcing him to look at him. When Dean did, he saw confusion and something close to fear behind his blue eyes.

“Who told you that?” Cas asked softly.

Dean blinked, leaning back from Cas’s intrusion. There was a weird feeling in the air whenever Cas got this close, like just before a static shock. Probably the angel in him electrifying the air around his vessel or something. It was a freaky reminder of what really lay behind his stiff expressions. “Alastair.” Dean stuttered. “He said he offered Dad the same deal as me. And that Dad never took it.”

Cas’s lips parted and he searched Dean’s eyes for a moment. Panic? Was that panic in his eyes? Tilting his head down in that same way he had months ago, his “we have work for you” face, he spoke very clearly. “Dean, that was a lie.”

“What?”

“John Winchester was never offered the deal.” Cas said firmly. He was getting worked up, his lips pinching tight the way they did when he was pissed. “He would not have been able to break the seal. He was a selfish, wounded man.”

Dean bristled. “Don’t talk about him like-“

“John Winchester was not righteous.” Castiel continued in a soft growl. “His time in Hell was short. Although Alastair may have tortured him, he was never offered a way out.”

Dean was starting to get used to the feeling of all the air being sucked from his lungs. “But…”

Cas bared his teeth. “He lied to you, Dean. Alastair lied. He and Azaezel kept your father confined to a remote region on the outskirts of the second circle. It’s true he was under heavy guard but he was never deeper than that. That’s why he was so close to the devil’s gate when it opened in Wyoming. And time is shallow in that region. It would only have been marginally slower than it is here, nowhere near as slow as the circle where you were kept.”

“He wasn’t…?” Dean wasn’t really sure what the end of that question was going to be.

Cas shook his head gravely. “It was always you, Dean.”

Dean felt the tiny spark of relief that had bloomed in his chest snuff itself out. Of course it was. The whole universe had been waiting eons for Dean Fucking Winchester to come along and prove he couldn’t hold out, couldn’t be what it needed him to be. He rolled his shoulders, letting that weight settle back on them. “Yeah, well. Either way, I broke, man. Righteous Man gave in and Sammy paid for it.”

“And together you stopped the destruction of the world and locked Lucifer back in his cage.” Cas reminded him fiercely. Dean huffed. “You sacrificed everything you held dear to keep the end from coming to pass. Do not forget that part of the story.”

Dean shook his head, wishing the angel would just stop. “I appreciate the thought, Cas. I do. Just… lay off, alright?”

Cas scowled but didn’t speak again. They stood until the moon passed down behind the horizon, silent. It was weird but Dean didn’t really mind Cas’s silent presence behind him, didn’t find it creepy like he used to. Cas was a friend. A good one. Probably the best one he had left. As a deeper darkness settled over them Dean drained his bottle and picked up his gun.

“Don’t you need to get upstairs?” Dean asked curiously, pointing upward. “Won’t they notice you missing? And weren’t you going to check on that chatter you caught earlier?”

Cas looked mildly offended. “I am more concerned with keeping you out of danger right now than avoiding gossip among my siblings.” He said stiffly.

Dean chuckled and clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Not saying I don’t appreciate the help, man.” He assured him and Castiel eased a bit. “Just making sure you’re not getting yourself in a jam over me. Again.”

“This concerns us all.” Cas reminded him, shifting towards the door. “Please, could we discuss this inside the rest of the wards?” Dean grinned at the note of command in his voice, opening the door and gesturing Cas through.

“Cas. You’re making me all squirmy.” He teased. “When did you get so take-charge?”

“You and your brother taught me a great deal about impatience.” Cas said with a quirk of his lips, following Dean into the hall.

“I know the feeling.” Bobby agreed from his bookcase. Dean listened at the foot of the stairs for a moment, hearing Lisa’s soft voice as the murmured to Ben. He winced as he wondered how much she would tell the kid. Ben didn’t need to know just how fucked up Dean really was. It was Lisa’s choice, but Dean found himself sort of hoping she let the kid keep just a bit of his innocence a little longer. Then again, Ben’s hero worship was so entirely misplaced that it was probably better he know just what Dean was deep down. Before he did something stupid.

Dean shook his head and tromped into the study.

“So Cas,” Bobby said, sliding a book back on the shelf and drawing out a new one, “what exactly did this thing feel like?”

Cas paused, his blue eyes glimmering thoughtfully. “Empty.” He said finally.

“What do you mean, empty?” Dean asked, slumping down onto the couch. He was exhausted.

“It was powerful, but…” Cas stared at the bookshelf, his brow scrunching, “it was hollow. As if it is only an echo of something stronger.”

“Like a projection?” Dean asked.

“It was there.” Cas said, shaking his head.

 _Corporeal_ , whispered the memory of Sam. Dean winced.

“So more like some kind of Sam robot?” He suggested.

“It was cognizant, not a zombie or a golem,” Cas went on, his face pinching in frustration as he searched for a way to explain, “but it was not…” he shrugged. “Hollow is the best word to describe it.”

“Well, that sounds like ten kinds of trouble.” Bobby grumbled, slamming another book down on his desk.

“So, what now?” Dean asked. “Cas and I swing back and track this thing down?”

Cas frowned. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

Dean fixed him with a glare. “I’m not gonna sit here with my thumb up my ass while you go chasing down my brother’s skin.”

“Dean.” Cas looked at him in that maddeningly patronizing way Dean had forgotten all about. Like Dean was an irritatingly dense two year old banging his cup for more juice. A strange bubble of annoyance mixed with nostalgia brought him up short of a scathing retort. “You are many things but subtle is rarely one of them. I believe you should remain here while I try to track and observe whatever this is from a safe distance.”

“Since when are you a super-spy, Jason Bourne?” Dean demanded sulkily. He knew there was sense in what the angel was saying but the idea of being left behind was infuriating.

Cas ignored the reference that clearly went zipping over his head and barrelled on with his argument. “I can move faster and cover more ground without you. I can ‘fly under it’s radar’ as you like to put it. And if this… creature… is after you, it is best we don’t make it easy for him to lure you out again.”

“Lure me out?” Dean balked.

Cas fixed him with a steely eye. “I recall warning you not to approach this thing. And yet a the first glimpse of it you went charging headlong through a park full of people to catch it. If you hadn’t had the presence of mind to call me I have no doubt you would have followed it wherever it was trying to lead you.”

Bobby glanced up, sympathy buried none-too-deep behind his scowl. Dean felt all the bluster wash out of him. “Yeah.” He admitted. “Probably. But Cas-“

Cas took a step too close and Dean was surprised to find the old instinct to shrink back had faded. “Dean, I understand how frustrating you find being stationary, but I believe I can do this better without you.”

Dean heaved a breath through his nose and tried to push annoyance to the back of his mind. “Yeah. Alright.”

“Thank you.” Cas said, his voice warming. And then he was gone.


	10. A Stupid Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Skin and Bones - The Avett Brothers
> 
> “But how long can you live in shame  
> And drop a lifelong curse on your own last name?  
> The trouble is I’m used to it.”
> 
> This is not particularly relevant to this chapter, but it's basically a song written by and for Dean Winchester.

Castiel stood invisible beside the soccer field and watched a trio of children chase seagulls from one end to the other. He tried not to remember the wild, desperate thrashing of Dean’s body against his vessel, the pain bleeding out of him as he reached for the thing that was not his brother. It was difficult to forget. Dean’s soul had been a holocaust, hope and terror and things Castiel struggled to name surging through him. Painful.

There were traces of human souls everywhere, criss-crossing every inch of the lawn and snaking into the trees. Some were bright and fresh and others were fading, but he wasn’t interested in what was there. He was interested in what was absent. He let his awareness sweep out across the grass seeking that emptiness he had felt. If he hadn’t felt it, seen it and caught it with the edges of his grace, he doubted he would ever have noticed. Just there, a path of nothingness cutting through the trails of energy. There was no residue of magic, demonic or otherwise, just nothing. The blaze of Dean’s soul shadowed it and Castiel followed to where he had restrained his friend. He sidestepped that spot where Dean’s distress was still palpable in the air, an unpleasant sting bouncing off Castiel’s grace. The emptiness continued. He traced it through a copse of trees and into a ditch, to find it abruptly disappeared. It simply ended. A cut string.

He searched his memory for any hint as to what this creature could be. It was no revenant, no whyte or ghost, but a living human body. It trailed a taste of carbon and salt, not the stuff of spirits. But there was no anima, no force to propel it. The electrical signals flashed in a living brain, swept through vital muscle, but no soul, demon, or spell of any kind brought those charges into being. He’d never known anything like it.

He hadn’t lied to Dean; the balance of Heaven was tenuous and the news of Lucifer’s vessel appearing here on Earth could tip the scales catasrophically. Whatever this was, they _had_ to find it. And the faster, the better. He squinted, listening to the whispers of his siblings in his mind. Samandriel was far away, deep in the folds of Heaven with some of Castiel’s other followers. Castiel could hear his brother murmuring assurances to them, trying to persuade. Castiel cast about, but he couldn’t pick Hannah out from amongst the host. Perhaps she was still trying to coax Joshua to open the gates to the garden and offer some advice; it was difficult to hear that part of Heaven from Earth. He reached out again, this time tracing earth for the murmurs of his kin. When he found the one he was looking for, he sent out a call. He felt it echo, the message received, and moved a little ways away from the ditch to wait.

In only a few moments he felt the edges of his grace waver as a huge set of wings rustled alongside him. “Castiel.” Balthazar squinted at him. “What has happened?”

“Nothing has happened.” Castiel lied.

Balthazar frowned, casting about with his eyes and his grace. Suspicion was another of those human traits Balthazar had picked up in his time among them. Castiel’s wings twitched guiltily but he was confident his brother would not recognize the trail he had followed.

“I need to ask a favor of you.” Castiel said.

Balthazar blinked, his wings twitching curiously. “Oh?” Castiel nodded and felt as Blathazar drew in their location, testing the air and the dirt beneath his vessel’s boots. “And this favor has something to do with Dean Winchester?” he guessed.

“It does.” Castiel admitted, not seeing any point in denying it. The whole of Heaven would know where Dean had chosen to live after the Apocolypse. Castiel knew Raphael considered the human beneath notice now that his part had been played but it was unlikely all his followers felt similarly. The Winchesters had thrown Heaven’s plan quite literally into the pit, and anyone who could do that _must_ be worth keeping track of. “I need to help Dean with… a case.” It was true. The fact that it was a potentially earth-shattering case did not make it a lie.

Balthazar shuffled his wings. “What’s so massive that the Righteous Man can’t handle it himself?” he asked.

Castiel pinched a frown. It was odd to hear his friend referred to like that, even if he still did it himself on occasion. Of course Dean was The Righteous Man. But the title that had once held such an exhaulted status in his mind - a figure of celestial legend which typified human goodness - hardly seemed to encompass all the reality of Dean. For one thing it certainly didn’t account for his tendency to buy pornographic magazines at gas stations whenever Sam had asked to stop for coffee. The stern determination Castiel had always associated with that title didn’t really match up with the wide, child-like grin Dean would turn on his brother as he dropped the magazines casually on the counter alongside his brother’s purchases, or the way he snickered when Sam rolled his eyes.

A sharp pang echoed through his chest - his actual physical chest - as his grace rippled out around him with a forlorn clang. Sam Winchester. His friend who, even with his restored grace, Castiel could do _nothing_ to help. A seraph was useless against the confines of the cage. And even if he were not he knew Sam would never want Castiel to risk releasing Lucifer just at the slim chance of saving him from the worst Hell imaginable.

Balthazar jumped, eyes widening as he took in Castiel’s reaction.

“I owe him a great deal.” Castiel murmured, thinking of both the Winchesters again. “We all do. He is… he has lost enough. I need to help him, and I need you to keep the rest of the host from finding out.”

Balthazar was silent a moment. “This is why so many of us don’t trust you.” He said. “You spend so much time away from Heaven, wandering Earth without orders. Your loyalties to a few humans are enough to pull you away from Heaven and all our concerns.”

Castiel nodded. “I know.”

Balthazar stared at him, but he didn’t reach out his grace to test Castiel’s. “Sure.” He shrugged at last. “I will keep Hannah off your back for a while. But she doesn’t fully trust me, you know.”

“I know.” Cas agreed. “But I do.”

Balthazar snorted. “Fine. But you’ve got to try to keep in touch with your followers. Your position is tenuous. And you may be the only thing that really has a chance to stop our dear big brother Raphael from tearing the world apart.”

Castiel smiled, resting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Thank you, Balthazar.”

 

 

* * * *

 

Dean wiped the back of a grease-covered hand across his forehead, trying and failing to keep the sweat from running into his eyes as he bent over the mangled remains of what he thought must be an engine.

“The hell did you do in here?” he demanded, cursing as he tried to make any sense out of the bizarre setup. It was like Kenny had only had a painting from a cubist’s nightmare to go on. He’d taken a junked out old mustang and turned it into some kind of Frankenstein’s monster, jamming pieces and tubing and parts together in no logical order. He’d done a damn thorough job of it too, and Dean was going to have a hell of a time taking it all apart again. “Did you use superglue or something?”

They were near the edge of Singer’s Salvage Yard, the sun drawing heat rays off the expanse of metal all around them, obscuring the hubcap-lined fences into a hazy silver smear. The young hunter had stopped by to drop some intel off with Bobby on a vamp nest in Texas and when Dean had heard the crank and wheeze of the old classic he’d refused to let the kid leave without getting to the bottom of it.

Behind him Kenny scuffed his boot in the dirt and blushed. “It was in my grandfather’s garage with a bunch of boxes filled with parts.” The teenager admitted sheepishly. “I thought they must all go to the same car. By the time I realized…” he shrugged and waved at the mess Dean was leaning over.

“Stick to the books, kid.” Dean grumbled, tossing the ratchet onto the tarp he was using as a tool bench. “I don’t think cars are your thing.”

Kenny laughed. “Guess not.” He admitted with a sigh. “Do you think you can fix this?”

“It’ll take a few days to figure out how you even did all this and get it undone.” Dean confessed, mopping the back of his neck with a rag. “And Bobby and I have got a few things on right now, so maybe longer.”

“A hunt?” Kenny perked up.

“Not sure.” Dean replied evasively. “Could be. We’re just trying to follow the signs right now, see what’s out there.”

“Got anything you want me to take a look at? I’m pretty good at tracking.” Kenny offered. “You know, as a thanks for fixing this.” He waved at the car.

Dean tried not to think of the three days that had passed since Cas had vanished, no word at all of the Sam-shaped shadow lurking behind them all. “Thanks, kid, but we’re playing this one pretty close to the vest.”

“Sure.” Kenny didn’t seem offended, no typical macho hunter bristling at the brush off.Instead he just took a gulp of his beer and swiped his hand across his mouth. “Heard the Winchesters like to handle their own shit.”

Dean winced and gave a noncommittal grunt. Kenny didn’t seem to notice Dean’s slowly tensing shoulders, the tightness around his eyes. There weren’t many Winchesters left these days. “Hey, was all the stuff true?” he asked curiously. “About you and angels and the Devil and all of that apocalyptic crap last year? I mean I saw the news and stuff but… you know hunters. They’re worse than fishermen.”

Dean was saved having to answer that question by the sound of fluttering feathers and six-feet of angel appearing about an inch in front of Kenny’s startled face.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas grated, “I’ve come to apprise you of the situation in Heaven.”

Dean bit back a chuckle as Kenny’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. Unable to resist, he put on his most easy-going, shoot-the-shit drawl. “Hey, Cas. Sure. Uh, this is Kenny.” No big deal, angels zapping in and out. Not for a Winchester. The thought was both bitter and hilarious.

“Kenneth Bowen.” Cas nodded, staring right through the poor kid’s skull. He didn’t offer a handshake, typical Cas.

Kenny’s mouth flapped once and Dean snickered, throwing his arm around Cas’s shoulders and beaming at the boggling hunter. “Kenny, meet Castiel. Angel of the Lord.”

Kenny made a sound somewhere between a stutter and a hiccup.

“Hey kid,” Dean snapped his fingers in front of the poor guy’s gaping face, “why don’t you hit up Bobby’s spares shed and see if you can find one of these.” He pushed off Cas and tossed a broken distributor cap at the kid, glad he was at least present enough to catch it.

“Right.” Stuttered Kenny, shuffling backwards in the dust, staring at Cas as if afraid he was about to be smote. “Uh, sure.”

Cas quirked an eyebrow at Dean. “What happened to ‘breaking it gently’?” he asked.

“Couldn’t resist.” Dean grinned and Castiel’s eyes sparkled. Even if he didn’t get Dean’s jokes he always seemed to respond to Dean’s smile with one of his own. “That was unkind, Dean.” He said without any disapproval in his voice.

“Kid was being nosey.” Dean shrugged. “What’s up, Cas?”

Suddenly the angel was all business, turning to face Dean fully. He spread his feet apart as if bracing himself to withstand an onslaught and ducked his chin to peer up at Dean past his eyebrows. Dean had a quick flashback to that first night in the barn - we have work for you - and was surprised to find it brought a smile instead of a flinch. He’d insisted Cas keep him up to date on his own problems in Heaven, especially since they hadn’t heard a peep on the Sam front. Seeing Cas gearing up for business was oddly endearing. Not that he’d ever admit to having that thought.

“Raphael has called for a meeting between himself and Malachi and requested that I also be present.”

Dean squinted suspiciously. “And why has he decided to do that, exactly?”

“My sources suspect he plans to ask Malachi and I to swear fealty to him before the host.”

“Just like that?” Dean blinked.

Cas shifted nervously. “The balance has shifted. There are whispers of turmoil here.”

“They know about Sam?” Dean snapped, a shiver of panic racing along his nerves.

“No.” Cas shook his head. “But many of our number are losing faith in our Father. They do not yet truly question, but they wonder. If this continues it could spell the destruction of Heaven as we know it.”

“Woah, Cas.” Dean breathed, leaning back on the bumper of Kenny’s car. “So… what do we do?”

Cas smiled. It took Dean a second to realize he’d done the same thing Lisa had a few days ago, thrown his lot in with Cas as if it weren’t even a question. Well, he supposed it wasn’t. Cas may not be a Winchester but he was fucking family. “We,” said Cas, blue eyes warming, “don’t do anything yet. Hester, once a loyal supporter of Michael’s, has been aiding me in learning Raphael’s intentions.”

“Got a spy in the enemy camp?” Dean grinned. Maybe hanging around hunters had taught him something useful after all.

Cas nodded. “We believe Raphael plans to offer both Malachi and myself seemingly reasonable compromises in exchange for our allegiance to him. He seems to feel he has addressed our…concerns with regard to the apocalypse.”

“Angel’s gonna bribe the other angels?” Dean scoffed. “Doesn’t sound too holy.”

Cas shrugged. “Humans do not have a corner on dirty politics. In fact, I think you could argue that angels invented it.”

Dean chuckled. Angelic mudslinging didn’t sound too far-fetched in his experience. “So what’s on the table if you bend over for him?”

Cas frowned at Dean’s phrasing. “I do not know what he plans to promise Malachi for his allegiance, but I believe he will promise me dominion over mankind.”

Dean rocked back on his heels, letting out a low whistle. “Dominion over mankind?” he repeated. “So… for all intents and purposes… God?”

Cas frowned. “I would be the voice of God here on Earth. I would be able to guide humanity through the oncoming crisis, prepare them, teach them to fight. Instead of an unprepared populace destroyed by Lucifer’s forces I could prepare them to fight back. I could save many more than would otherwise survive. I believe this is what he will tempt me with.”

Dean stared, taking in the confident set of Cas’s shoulders, the hard line of his jaw. He could almost see it. Cas standing in for a deadbeat God. He had the face for it. And the voice. And the general otherworldliness that seemed to impress people. At least, people who hadn’t heard him talk for more than a few minutes at a time. But still, something about the idea of Cas playing God - Cas, one of the few who still had faith in his absent father - set a dreadful chill in Dean’s gut.

“You aren’t gonna say yes, right?” he asked quietly, forcing himself not to look away. Cas’s face was blank. Like, blank blank. RoboCas blank. For a moment Dean couldn’t read him at all, and it scared the hell out of him.

After a tense millisecond surprise flashed over the angel’s face, then disgust. “No!” he spat, so emphatically that Dean let out a breath. Of course he wound’t say yes. Cas looked pissed that Dean would even ask the question. “It’s blasphemy, for a start.”

Dean snorted. “I don’t remember you having such a problem with that last year.” He shuddered away from the memory of Falling Cas.

Cas’s scowl deepened but he ignored the jibe. “Dean, I will not sacrifice most of humanity for the slim chance of saving a few.”

Dean felt his chest ease and he flicked a crooked smile. “All or nothing, hey Champ?”

“I would prefer all.” Sniffed Cas, flexing his hands at his side as if he were ready to start snatching up souls for saving right now. “And besides, even if I could be persuaded that it was not God’s will that the End should be stalled - which I could not -“ he paused, glancing away.

“What?” Dean prompted, watching the sheepish way Cas’s eyes slowly dragged back up to his.

“I would not dishonour Sam’s sacrifice.” Dean’s heart just about leapt out of his throat and his goddamn eyes were goddamn brimming a-goddamn-gain. “He did this for us. For all of us. For all of them. I would not agree to let what he fought so hard to stop happen for anything.”

Dean nodded sharply, gratitude and a whole load of other emotions trilling along his arms and demanding that he hug the damn angel. Maybe weep all over his shoulder. Instead he shoved a grease-stained hand under his nose and gave Cas a pathetic smile. “Yeah, man. Ok.”

Kenny saved him from blubbering all over the guy by reappearing with a distributor cap in hand and a triumphant smile in place.

“Here you go, Dean!” he said cheerfully, tossing the bit of plastic at him. Cas snatched it out of the air before Dean could react, drawing a whistle from the kid.

“Nice reflexes, your holiness.” Kenny grinned.

Cas ignored him, watching as Dean scrubbed his palms over his face briskly. “Look, Kenny, I gotta talk to Cas for a while. Important Angel business and all that crap, alright? I’ll see what I can do about this,” he waved his hand at the engine, “but for now I think you ought to take that loaner Bobby mentioned and head out.”

“Sure.” Kenny shrugged easily, swinging the keys to the old station wagon Bobby had given him on one finger. “Nice to meet you, Castiel.” He said, offering his hand. Cas took it, turning that laser-gaze on the young hunter again, who gulped audibly.

“A pleasure.” Cas said cordially, forcing Dean to hide a snicker.

“Yeah.” Kenny blinked, taking an unintentional step back. He must be feeling that weird tingly thing that happened to the air when you got too close to Cas, thought Dean. It pretty much screamed NOT HUMAN. Most hunters would be itching to shoot, stab, or salt him just on plain instinct. “Uh, I’ll see ya around, Dean.”

“Sure, kid.” Dean watched him trot back to the house, shirt tails flapping behind him. “Let’s head inside.” he said when the kid rounded the porch, “I think Bobby will want to hear this, too.”

“Alright. ” Cas agreed easily, trailing after Dean as he followed Kenny’s path. In the front yard Lisa stood with a rifle butt braced against her shoulder, her eyes narrowed on a coffee can that had seen better days. Ben sat on the trunk of an old Mazda beside her, watching his mother’s target practice with a look somewhere between awe and chagrin. It had been very quickly decided - entirely by Lisa and with a voice that brooked zero argument - that he should not be taught to shoot. Dean and Bobby would teach him to fight, how to wield a knife and escape from a hold, but guns were quite firmly out of the question until he was fifteen.

Ben didn’t notice their approach and Dean motioned for Cas to wait as she stared, her finger slowly and smoothly squeezing the trigger. The coffee can didn’t move but the fence post two inches to the left sent out a spray of splinters as the bullet grazed the top.

“Damnit.” Huffed Lisa, letting the gun drop and rolling her shoulder.

“That was way closer!” Dean congratulated, trotting up to plant a kiss on her cheek. She carefully kept the gun pointed down at the ground and blew a stray lock of hair off her forehead.

“I’m getting used to the kickback.” She agreed with a smile.

“Try keeping your stance more open to the side.” Dean offered, grabbing her hips to show her. “You want your leading hip to be pointing right at your target. You keep swinging your back hip around at the last second.”

Lisa drew in a sharp breath when his fingers brushed the hem of her t-shirt and Dean immediately felt like an ass. What was this, some shitty western? He stepped back, ignoring the liquid light in her gaze. He’d fucked up her life enough for now, she didn’t need him worming his way back into her bed.

“Castiel!” Ben blurted, leaping to his feet. “Welcome back!”

“Thank you.” Cas nodded, looking genuinely fond as Ben bounced over to him. Cas didn’t seem to understand why Ben was so fascinated with him, but Dean could tell he enjoyed how much the kid obviously wanted to be around him. It was probably a fairly new experience for Cas, having spent the last few years on earth hanging around with assholes like Dean.

“Cas has some news for Bobby and I.” Dean explained, picking a few stray bits of fluff from Ben’s hair. “We should get inside.”

“Did you find… the thing?” Ben glanced at Dean, clearly avoiding using Sam’s name.

“No.” Cas frowned, watching the fluff float from Dean’s fingers.

“We were just heading in anyway.” Lisa interrupted, carefully unloading the shotgun and putting the unused shells in her pocket. Ben rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to my room again, aren’t I?” he guessed.

Dean smiled, taking the gun from her hand. “Don’t sweat it, kid. I found some of Sammy’s old comics this morning. Thought you could read those while you’re stuck up there. X-men and Sandman. Pretty cool stuff.”

“What’s Sandman?”

Dean explained about Morpheus and The Endless as they sauntered up to the porch, leaving the shotgun propped against the railing. Even without an air-conditioner the inside of the house was lovely and cool after the dusty summer sun, and Dean sighed as he stripped his filthy t-shirt, grabbing a clean one from the basket of unfolded laundry by Bobby’s staircase.

He spotted Lisa eyeing him and quickly pulled the new one on, laughing when she wiggled her eyebrows salaciously.

Bobby sat behind his desk again - the old man’s butt would fuse to that chair someday - growling into the phone marked “Homeland Security”.

“Yes he does have clearance and if I hear that you have been in any way less than helpful in this matter I will sure as shit be telling your superiors about it, you understand?” Dean grinned when Bobby rolled his eyes and hung up.

“Garth again?” Dean guessed. He hadn’t met the guy but he gathered he was making Bobby’s life way harder than it used to be. Bobby had upgraded him from “idjit” to “world-class numbskull” in the three days Dean had been kicking around, and gotten at least five phone calls about a simple salt and burn.

Ben tried to casually slide into the living room behind them but Dean whipped around to block his path. “Comics are upstairs, kid.” He reminded Ben pointedly.

“Right.” With a dramatic sigh the kid climbed the stairs, stomping a bit but not daring to slam the door as he disappeared into his room.

“Cas.” Bobby nodded as Cas slid into view and the angel returned the gesture. “What’s the news?”

Dean filled him in on what Cas had already explained.

“So,” Bobby said, linking his hands behind his head. “If you’re not going to take the fake-promotion, what are you going to do?”

Cas’s shoulders slumped slightly. “I’m… not sure.” He admitted. “His offer will indeed seem more than reasonable to many of those who have yet to show loyalty to one or another side. What he will offer me is more than any seraph of my station could hope to achieve in his existence. I have argued time and again that mankind is best-loved by our father and that it is our duty to protect them. By offering me the role of guardian he effectively cuts off that line of argument to those unacquainted with humans.”

“What do you mean?” Lisa asked from where she had curled up on the couch. Dean sat next to her, his arm thrown behind her shoulders but carefully not touching her.

Cas’s expression folded inward, something of a smile hovering gently around his cheeks. “You are puzzling creatures, so independent and yet helpless.”

“Hey!” Dean protested mildly.

“Angels were built to obey orders, to follow the will of the Lord unwaveringly.”

“I remember.” Dean grumbled, picturing Uriel’s ugly sneer.

“We feel His presence in our hearts every second, even now when it is distant and faded. It is almost incomprehensible to us that humans cannot. That you must chose for yourselves is an alien concept to our way of being. To those who have not walked among humans - particularly in recent years - Raphael’s offer will appear to be sufficient to save all those worthy of saving. If humans don’t listen or are unable to fight, then it is God’s will they perish.”

“Isn’t that a convenient little catch-all?” Bobby snarked, rocking his chair back onto two legs. Dean was surprised when Cas nodded ruefully.

“I’ve noticed we use it far more often than I realized.” He agreed. “If I refuse this opportunity outright I will appear churlish and ungrateful, unyielding to the will of my father and petulantly dedicated to my own cause.”

Dean frowned. “Tricky.” He admitted grudgingly.

“So that’s what he’s hoping for?” Lisa asked, puzzled. “To - what? Discredit you?”

“I don’t know.” Cas admitted. “I cannot see how that will seriously strengthen his position, as my supporters are made up almost exclusively of those angels who have watched the earth for the past few millennia. The few who are undecided in this will not likely understand my refusal, but to truly bolster his own supporters Raphael needs to convince my own or Malachi’s followers to convert to his cause. Perhaps he has a more tempting offer for Malachi.”

“Does Malachi know about this?” Dean asked.

Cas nodded. “I have warned him of the situation.”

“Well, let’s hope he has the sense to say no.” Bobby shrugged. “How long ’til this joint session of congress commences?”

Cas tilted his head in thought. “Time moves differently in Heaven, but if it continues to move as it has been recently… perhaps two weeks?”

“Why so long?” Dean asked. Cas only shrugged. Sam was the one who had been able to make sense of his “physics of Heaven” lectures. Probably he didn’t even want to try and explain it to Dean.

“What about the other thing?” Bobby asked.

Cas sighed, looking about heavy enough to sink through the carpet. “I have not been able to locate a single trace of this… creature.” He confessed. “It’s almost as though it never existed.”

“I saw it.” Dean protested immediately. In the three days since he’d last seen the angel he’d begun to question his sanity again. Only he and Cas had actually seen the Sam-alike, and without the angel to confirm he was starting to wonder if he hadn’t cooked up the whole thing in a fit of grief. What if it had just been some other long-haired sasquatch hanging out by the soccer field?

“I saw it as well.” Cas assured him gently. “But it left no trace. It only left a trail of emptiness that ends with no further clues a few hundered feet from where I found you.”

“I’ve got an idea on that front.” Bobby ventured, scuffing his cap over his head a few times before settling it back in place. “If angels can’t track it, and hunters haven’t caught wind of it, who else might have an inkling of something that might have snuck out of Hell?”

“Oh no.” Dean threw himself to his feet. “Absolutely not!”

“What?” Lisa glanced between the three of them, startled. “What’s wrong?”

Dean’s finger snapped up to point at Bobby where he sat calmly. “No way, Bobby. Things are shitty enough right now without involving demons.”

“Demons?” Squeaked Lisa, eyes wide.

“Oh, come on, Dean.” Bobby sighed, refusing to get caught up in Dean’s histrionics. “If there’s one sneaky bastard to rule them all it’s Crowley. He’s got his fingers in every pie going and we all know that nothing but nothing gets past him, especially something this big.”

“Crowley!?” Dean barked, rocking back on his heels. “You want to call in Crowley? Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.” Bobby confirmed, dropping his chair hard onto all four legs. He had never had much patience for Dean’s dramatic shouting. “If the plans he hinted at before Sam rode Lucy down into the pit have gone the way he wanted he’s a big cheese down south nowadays. He’s the only one we know with the juice to get anywhere near the cage and if something got in or out of there he would know what and how.”

“No way, Bobby.” Dean snapped, crossing his arms definitively.

“You got a better plan?” Bobby challenged. Dean didn’t, but no plan was better than one this shitty.

When the silence began to stretch out between them Lisa murmured, “Who’s Crowley again?” Dean had told her about the snarky demon, but she’d gotten a lot of information all at once. Sometimes she forgot the who’s who of creepy crawlies.

“Crowley was the crossroads demon who agreed to help us locate Death so Dean could steal his ring and open Lucifer’s cage.” Cas supplied helpfully. Lisa was getting better at hiding her shock, Dean noticed. Or maybe she was just getting desensitized to ridiculous bullshit.

“He also took Bobby’s soul and refused to give it back.” Dean reminded them.

“It’s back now.” Bobby snipped, rubbing at his chest as though his soul might be showing. “He stuck to the deal and gave it back so he could slink away without getting skinned. And I don’t plan on making any deals with the jackass. Just trading info.”

“It’s a stupid idea.” Dean insisted.

“So are most of the things that have saved our asses so far.” Bobby reminded him ruthlessly. “And unless you got a better one you’re gonna be stuck here with your thumb up your ass until whatever this thing is finds you.”


	11. Return of a Salesman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening - Salesman - The Monkees
> 
> “Hey, salesman, got a little dog whose tail wags when you talk  
> You always wear a smile, even though you've gotta walk ten miles  
> Short lifespan, good-time salesman.”

Dean leaned against the rune-scattered wall of Bobby’s panic room with his arms crossed, glaring as the old hunter dropped something green and spiky into a brass bowl. Lisa and Ben were tucked up in Ben’s room behind a layer of wards so thick Dean wasn’t even sure air could get through. Cas had assured him multiple times that no demon could penetrate it. If all went to plan Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell there was anyone else in the house. Given how often things actually went to plan for them, Dean was still pretty pissed about the whole thing.

Lisa had agreed immediately that she should not be present when the demon was summoned. Ben hadn’t even tried to get them to let him stay. The kid may geek out hard over magic and stuff but he had enough sense to know not to screw around with demons. Now if only the rest of them could learn the same lesson.

Dean really needed to get Ben inked. He made a mental note to get one of Bobby’s contacts in ASAP.

“This is such a bad idea.” Dean said for about the thirtieth time. For the thirtieth time Bobby ignored him.

Cas stood in the middle of the room, lighting candles with his fingertips and retracing the lines of the multiple devils traps to be sure they were intact. Dean glared at him, too. He’d been expecting more support from Cas. Surely if anyone should be averse to voluntarily bringing a demon in on anything it was an Angel of the freaking Lord, right? Turns out: not so much.

In their months apart Dean had forgotten just how freaking aggravating the angel’s whole zen-condescension thing could be. Cas’s voice had been irritatingly calm as he backed Bobby’s idiot plan. “Dean, consider: whatever this is it is most likely connected to Hell. Since the cage was shut all troops have pulled out and returned to Heaven. We do not even have the forces to patrol the gates anymore. If there is something going on in Hell large enough to involve Lucifer or Michael we need to know about it. Crowley has not given us any cause to distrust his word.”

“Isn’t the fact that he is a freaking DEMON cause enough?” Dean had demanded, indignant.

Cas had fixed him with his exasperated ‘don’t state the obvious’ look and Dean had nearly bitten through his lip resisting the urge to punch him. He’d only break his knuckles.

So he stood by and watched them stir up a summoning spell, biting his tongue - mostly.

“Alright.” Bobby said, looking down at the bloody, boney slop in his shiny bowl. “Think that’s about all I need. Want to double-check, Feathers?”

Cas barely glanced at the spell before nodding, his face pinching as if he smelled something foul. “That’s it.” He agreed.

“Well, no time like the present.” Bobby muttered, raising his book.

As he began to chant the ugly summoning spell Dean drew the demon knife from the back of his jeans, feeling like an idiot. They were all idiots for this, but especially him. Maybe Crowley would mouth off a little and he could finally stab the smarmy fucker right in the face. He could dream, at least. Crowley had been useful before but he was still a demon and Dean wouldn’t miss him even a little bit. Besides, he really needed to stab something.

The chanting continued and the air began to feel thick in his lungs. But instead of the acrid stench of sulphur he could only smell a subtle, expensive cologne. Bobby’s bowl began to smoke and bubble, a heavy vapor flowing over the side and slithering out along the concrete floor in dense coils. The devil’s trap remained empty but Dean felt the hairs on the back of his arms rising. Something was definitely here.

“Well, well.” The oily voice cut through the smoke and between blinks Crowley’s familiar meat-suit popped into existence. As usual he was swathed in Armani or some other designer crap, Dean couldn’t tell the difference. Black suit, black shirt, and purple tie all gleaming faintly in the candlelight, Crowley looked like the manager of a swanky sex-shop. The demon’s shoes gleamed like mirrors and Dean resisted the urge to spit on them.

“If it isn’t my favorite dysfunctional family.” Crowley drawled, hands in the pockets of his overcoat. His reptilian eyes were huge and black, dragging across Dean’s face in a tangible trail. “To what do I owe the irritation?”

“Crowley.” Bobby growled, cutting straight to it. “We need some information.”

“Good to see you too, tiger.” Crowley threw a wink the hunter’s way before his eyes landed on Cas. They flared wide for an instant before he looked quickly back to Dean, puffing his chest out and rocking back on his heels. “Deano.” He sneered, smoothing his silk tie. “Enjoying the single life, are we?”

Dean clenched his hand around the knife and imagined sinking it in right above that fat windsor knot.

“Shut up, Crowley.” Sighed Bobby, “And listen. There’s something big going down in Hell and we want the scoop from an insider.”

“What do you take me for, a stool pigeon?” Crowley sounded far too amused for Dean’s nerves to take. “Do you know who you’re dealing with, here?”

“A punk-ass crossroads demon asking to be stabbed in his scruffy face.” Dean growled.

“Hey!” whined Crowley in a mock hurt, scratching at his cheek. “Don’t be intimidated by my masculine stubble just because you’re still in peach fuzz. And a little decorum when you’re speaking to the King of Hell, if you don’t mind.”

“King of Hell?” Dean repeated incredulously. “Delusions of grandeur, much?”

“Unlike you lot, I haven’t been sitting around diddling myself since the Moose took a swan dive.” Dean was sure the demon’s sharp eyes didn’t miss his full-body flinch even as he turned his smile on Cas. “Your big brother Lucifer left quite a hole in our ranks when he let the Winchesters pull their little hail Mary. When his devotees learned that their horse had stumbled in the last furlong they were just a tad unhappy.”

“I’ll bet.” Muttered Bobby with a satisfied smirk.

“Pick a sport and stick to it.” Dean growled, feeling a tiny swell of pride that Sammy had been right. His move had shot the apocalypse to hell. Literally.

“Yes, well.” Crowley continued. “The point is I was prepared for the chaos. A few quick assassinations, a flaying here and there, a well placed bribe or two, a little general mayhem and…” he shrugged, flapping his purple tie at them.

“And what?” Dean snorted. “Your butt’s warming Lucy’s big desk chair?”

“Long live the king.” Smirked Crowley, his teeth flashing in the muted light. Dean, Bobby and Cas shared a look, each more skeptical than the last. Well, not Cas. He only looked mildly dubious really, but on him that was pretty damn skeptical.

“If that is true, why was it not more difficult to summon you?” Castiel demanded. “A demon of that ranking would not have trouble resisting this level of magic.”

Dean’s eyes flew to the trap, but Cas’s quick nod soothed his fear. Crowley may not have had to come but he was stuck now for sure. Bobby built a damn good panic room.

Crowley winced but covered it quickly with a swirl of his coat. “I was curious.” He sighed in a bored tone. Dean smelled a fib, but Crowley was leering at Bobby, licking his lips suggestively. “Always an ego boost when an old flame can’t stay away. And you don’t disappoint, do you? You’ve set up a lovely little tryst here.” Bobby flicked him the bird and Crowley laughed. “Now what could possibly bring Dean Winchester out of retirement?” He fixed his saurian stare on Dean, his smile curling out infinitely like the goddamn grinch. “Not doing so well in civilian life, Precious? Regretting breaking up the band?”

Dean growled but didn’t bother with any other response.

“You’re a regular ‘real housewife of suburbia’, aren’t you, hot shot?” Crowley continued gleefully. “I’ll bet you even host grief counselling on Tuesday nights for the other widows of the war with Satan. Look at you. Rotting away from the inside out. Tell me, do you at least have a pretty lady to pat you on the head while you cry yourself into gin-soaked sleep over your dear, departed brother-hubbie?”

“Can it, Crowley.” Bobby snapped, producing his hip flask. It wasn’t the whiskey one. Dean grinned. “Tell us what’s going on and we can all get out of each others’ sight. Flap your trap some more and I’ll pour this down your throat.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Try it, meat-sack.”

“King or no we’ve got your nuts in a vice, Crowley.” Dean snarled, the demon knife coming up before he even had the thought to raise it. The urge to jam it into the demon’s eye socket was nearly impossible to resist. Crowley looked supremely unimpressed.

“Keep your pig-sticker to yourself, Lizzy Borden.” Crowley snipped. “And if you want information out of me you’ll have to make it well worth my while.”

Bobby cut off Dean before he could snap out a rejoinder. “What do you want, Crowley?” he demanded, looking more fed up than anything.

“Well, now.” Crowley rubbed his hands together like a cartoon villain, perverse glee spread all over his glib face. “What could I possibly ask from a Singer and a Winchester that they haven’t already handed over to Hell, hmm? Your souls are practically mincemeat at this point. Barely fit to line my shoes.”

“Get on with it already, asshole.” Dean gritted out between clenched teeth.

“Oh no, I’m going to have to think on this for a bit.” Grinned Crowley, tapping his finger dramatically against his chin. “After all, when will I get another opportunity?”

“This is getting us nowhere.” Clipped Cas, stepping right up to the edge of the devil’s trap. “Who has been guarding the cage since you took over the reign of Hell?”

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up. “I like a man who takes charge.” He murmured, but without his usual flippancy. Something in the twitch of his fingers against his pant-leg said he hadn’t been expecting that line of inquiry.

“Answer the question.” Cas commanded and Dean felt a punch of triumph as Crowley recoiled slightly. It was a little thing, but it felt like a victory.

“No one guards the cage.” Crowley shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “That’s the beauty of it. Self-sealing. Just add Lucifer and bake for eternity.”

“You have not patrolled its borders?” Cas sounded somewhere between incredulous and pissed.

“What’s the point? No one’s getting in or out. I have better things to do than make sure your brothers are still beating the piss out of his brothers.” He jerked his head at Dean, who rocked forward as the urge to stab the fucker flared bright again.

“So you wouldn’t know anything about someone sneaking out and climbing topside, then?” Bobby drawled pleasantly.

Crowley froze, his entire being shifting in an instant. The slick salesman was gone, and Dean caught a glimpse of feral terror on his face.

Dean didn’t even try to help the smug chuckle that bubbled in his chest. “Queenie got a crisis?”

Crowley stared at Cas, ignoring Dean completely. “What are you talking about?” It was nearly a whisper.

“Something wearing Sam Winchester’s body has been seen twice in the last month.” Castiel explained. “It was not a shapeshifter, doppleganger, or any other supernatural creature I have encountered. It has managed to conceal itself from all our attempts to locate it, though it appears to have been watching Dean.”

Dean was pretty sure in the minute that followed he could have knocked the King of Hell over with a feather. Then he blinked and Crowley was storming around the devil’s trap like a wild animal, swearing viciously in at least six different languages. The smoke began roiling around his feet, swirling up into little cyclones as Crowley had a full-on meltdown.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Bobby, who shrugged tiredly. Apparently the whole ‘if anyone knows, it’s Crowley’ thing was a bust.

“So… you hadn’t heard?” Dean guessed.

“Release me.” Crowley demanded, stopping dead in his tracks. “Let me out of here!”

“Cool your jets, your Majesty.” Bobby stowed his flask, crossing his arms.

“Don’t you pions understand? If there’s a crack in the cage then we are all royally and cataclysmically boned!”

“You don’t think your predecessor’s going to take kindly to you stealing his pension?” Dean taunted.

“Oh yes, please, Dean! Waste my time with infantile bear-baiting while the entire regime I have worked to build crumbles and the big-daddy devil rides your brother right up your arse! I may be second on Satan’s hit-list but you sure as shit come in at a resounding first!”

“You’re spitting all over your tie.” Dean sneered.

“Enough!” Cas’s voice cracked like a gunshot and Dean and the demon both flinched.

Crowley took a deep breath and Dean could have sworn he was counting to ten. “Listen.” He exhaled finally. “You let me out of here so I can get downstairs and make damn sure the Devil is still in his shoebox. If something did sneak out and hasn’t shaken the world to pieces yet that means I might still have time to plug the gap.”

“And what do we get out of this?” Dean asked. He wasn’t entirely comfortable seeing Crowley’s normal composure crumble so drastically. It couldn’t mean good things. Then agin, they knew that the possibility of the cage being open was beyond ‘not good’.

“Oh, I don’t know. You get to keep your fiddly bits blessedly free of Lucifer’s pitchfork for a bit longer?” Crowley suggested acidly.

“You will return to Hell, inspect the cage and report back to us within the day.” Dean glanced over - impressed at the snap of command in Cas’s tone - and nearly fell on his ass. Cas was actually glowing, his eyes painfully blue in his face. For a moment two arcs of nearly-blinding light flashed behind Cas’s shoulders, and Dean had to screw his eyes shut.

“I can’t get anywhere near the cage, you know that. The ninth circle is a gated community.” Crowley hissed, his eyes watering as he struggled not to look away from Cas’s brilliance. “It’s a no fly zone for angels and demons alike.”

“So how did something get out?” Dean challenged.

“We don’t know it did.” Crowley countered. “And we won’t know unless you let me get down there right now!”

“You’re not even trying to deal?” Bobby asked suspiciously.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Normally I would be demanding the first born of everyone you’ve ever met,” Crowley admitted, “but in case you missed it, we are ALL cataclysmically screwed if Lucifer’s prying open his cage. I don’t have time for the fine print!”

Before Dean could snatch the back of his coat Cas had stepped inside the circle, crowding Crowley up against the far edge. He towered over the little demon, his hands flexed into claws at his sides and his eyes blazing impossibly blue.

“I will not see this all begin again.” Cas hissed, and for the first time in a long time Dean realised how downright terrifying Castiel could be. That tingle in the air that was vibrating in Dean’s bones now,that was Cas. That was the almighty power of Heaven crackling across his skin. “You will return to Hell and make absolutely certain that the cage has not been breeched. Then you will return here and help us to find whatever this is and seal it away or I will burn your mangled, filth-ridden soul from your bones and smile as I do.”

The only sound that broke the resounding silence that followed Cas’s little declaration was a thick gulp from the demon.

“Fine. Deal. Let me out of here.” He muttered pathetically.

Cas placed his hand on Crowley’s head and a flare of light left Dean and Bobby blinking. “If you go back on your word you will burn.” Cas warned, stepping back. Crowley looked like Cas had just force-fed him a dozen lemons but he nodded.

Cas knelt to touch a finger to the devil’s trap, vaporizing an inch or so of paint. Before he could stand Crowley was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all, if anyone's out there reading this I'd love to hear what you think so far! Not to sound too desperate or anything...


	12. Run With The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening: Your Protector - Fleet Foxes
> 
> “You walk along the stream  
> Your head caught in a waking dream  
> Your protector's coming home”

“Come on, Bobby!” Dean would never admit that his tone was a straight up whine. “I am going out of my mind here! There’s got to be a salt and burn or a vamp or something within a day’s drive.”

“I got folks taking care of them already.” Bobby repeated. It had been nearly two full days since Crowley had flown the coup. At the 24 hour mark a note had appeared in the center of the devil’s trap, a puff of red smoke curling off the paper. It just said “Working late tonight, Sweetheart”. Cas had decided that was good enough for the demon to avoid a smiting and headed back to Lisa’s to try and sniff out a trail, flatly refusing to take Dean with him. Dean knew he needed to be here to protect Ben and Lisa, but that left him sitting twiddling his goddamn thumbs and waiting on demons and angels to do his dirty work.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Cas - of course he trusted the guy who’d died twice for him already - but Dean was a do-it-yourself kinda guy. Besides, he’d never been the most patient man on earth. Man of action, that was him. Usually stupid actions that led to disaster, but still. He needed to do something. Anything. He’d taken apart Kenny’s engine in a day and scavenged almost all the parts he needed to rebuild it but was stalled until the few missing ones Bobby had ordered came in. He’d rebuilt the crumbling shed at the back of the property and organized all the miscellaneous tools in it into some kind of order. The few other little projects Bobby had weren’t enough to hold his attention and the impala was still sitting in Lisa’s garage so he didn’t even have the satisfaction of giving her a thorough tune up.

Short version: he was going stir-crazy.

“Bobby, I’m three seconds from tearing the walls down. You gotta give me something!”

“Go teach that boy how to change the oil in my truck or something, then.” Bobby suggested, nodding towards where Ben sat reading comics on the porch. Lisa was giving her shoulder a break from target practice and reading one of Bobby’s old Louis L’Amour paperbacks beside him, her long hair spilling over the railing behind her. It had rained the night before and for once every breath wasn’t choked with dust. They were taking advantage of the opportunity to get out of Bobby’s musty old house for a bit of fresh air.

The lazy, pleasant weather had Dean even more on-edge. How could he be expected to sit around in the sunshine with this shit going on? Sammy - or something so close he couldn’t tell the difference - was wandering around out there causing who-knew-what trouble and Dean was supposed to sit on the porch sipping lemonade? With a growl he snatched a knife from the wall and stomped outback to find Bobby’s ragged old sparring model.

Shredder had evolved through a few forms over the last thirty years (Sam had named him in his not-as-short-lived-as-it-probably-should-have-been Ninja Turtles phase), having first travelled through life as a scarecrow in Bobby’s wife’s kitchen garden. When Sam and Dean had found him listing drunkenly among the over-grown patches of weeds and wild-growing tomatoes they’d asked if they could set him up near the shooting fences. His narrow body had been refurbished with hay and pillow-stuffing, his coffee-can head repainted with a fanged clown’s face. That had been Dean’s idea. No matter how many times Sam took the head off and shot it through with holes Dean would find another and make sure it greeted Sammy fresh and smiling for practice the next day. Then as they hit their teens and Sammy’s gargantuan strength was too much for Shredder’s burlap body to withstand they’d convinced Bobby to order a proper heavy-duty sparring model.

Shredder’s new body - complete with generically caucasian head - was many-scarred and scuffed, but holding strong. They’d kept the thick burlap legs they’d given him, perfect for learning to sweep. Heavy enough to give a sense of balance but not hard enough that they’d come away with battered shins. Dean smiled around the taste of bile when he saw the faded, rust-pitted coffee can hat still perched jauntily atop Shredder’s moulded hair. He picked it up, grimaced at it, and set it on the fencepost just beside where Shredder was bolted down.

Stripping his over-shirt he began methodically working through sets, his elbows snapping and wrists aching as he beat the ever-loving shit out of Shredder. It felt good, the animal pull and crack of bone on simulated-flesh. After a while all he could hear was his own breathing loud in his ears and the thud, thud, thud of his punches landing. He ducked and weaved under imaginary blows, kicking hard at his opponent’s hips to throw him off balance.

He kept the demon knife tucked in the back of his belt until after an hour and a half his knuckles were starting to scream. Then he backed up twenty paces and threw it, skewering the clown-faced coffee can right between the eyes.

“Cooooool.” He turned to find Ben and Lisa sitting in the dirt, watching him. Ben had that eager-as-hell glint in his eye but Lisa’s face was guarded, unreadable.

“Hey.” Dean grunted, self-conscious. Had they just watched him shadowbox a freaking dummy for an hour? And how had he not heard them come up behind him? He needed to get his head in the freaking game.

“Can you show me how to do that?” Ben demanded. “Fight like that?”

Dean shrugged, placing his foot on the coffee can to pull the knife free with a metallic squeal. “Sure, sometime. If your mom doesn’t mind.”

Lisa cracked a smile. “Wax on, wax off?” she suggested, waving her hands in front of her like a very attractive windmill. Dean chuckled. He was feeling a little better, having worked the edge off his frustration.

“Why don’t we get inside?” he suggested, tucking the knife away and wiping his knuckles on his jeans. “I’ll make you guys some burgers or something.”

Ben nodded enthusiastically, tucking his forgotten comic under his arm as his mother stood and patted the dust from her shorts. Lisa had been cooking for them as a thank you to Bobby for letting them stay, but she’d live with Dean long enough to know he secretly found housework a little soothing so she didn’t protest.

They were halfway back to the porch when a gunshot rang out, followed by a loud and all-too-familiar voice spewing a stream of curses.

“Bobby!” Dean called, running up the porch and bursting into the kitchen.

Leaning heavily on the counter was Crowley, his black overcoat smoking where a spray of rock salt had shredded through. Dean was inordinately pleased to see him coughing up bloody chunks of salt between oaths. Across from him Bobby was reloading his shotgun calmly, throwing Dean a shrug.

“Startled me.” He explained, sliding another cartridge home.

The door slammed again and Dean winced. He tried to hunch his shoulders enough to fill the door to the hall and block Lisa and Ben from the demon’s view. Useless, obviously, as Crowley straightened, brushed the smoke from his front, and spit out a stream of salty blood.

“This is Hermes!” he said darkly, shooting Bobby a filthy look as he smoothed his smoking suit jacket. “Oh.” He blinked as he noticed Ben peering around Dean’s ribcage. “Now, Dean, you never said you had a bastard of your own. Following in daddy’s footsteps again, are we? Hey kid, want a sucker?” in a flash he was clear of blood andholding a giant yellow lollipop with a pink bow.

“Back off, Crowley!” Dean snarled.

Crowley sniffed the air, his shoulders sinking in disappointment. “Ah. Not related by blood. What a shame. I could have used some fresh Winchester blood. For all sorts of games.” He popped the candy into his own mouth, the pink bow getting caught in his artful stubble.

Dean crowded Lisa further into the corner of the hall, but before he could urge her up the stairs she stepped around him.

“So this is the demon, is it?” she said, her hands on her hips as she looked Crowley up and down.“Doesn’t seem like much, does he?” she tossed her hair dismissively. Dean nearly groaned, even if he was secretly impressed by her chutzpa. She may have thought she wasn’t showing weakness, but she was probably just piquing Crowley’s interest.

Sure enough, Crowley’s eyes brightened as he returned her scrutiny, his gaze lingering on her miles of tanned leg. “That’s right, luscious. I’m just a harmless little man with a massive fortune and incredibly expensive tastes. Nothing to worry about here.” He grinned, smoothing a finger over his eyebrow.

“Right.” Lisa smirked. “I can tell you’re trustworthy as a Catholic priest. How’d he get in past all that warding you said there was?” She asked Dean over her shoulder.

“I’ve got a member’s card.” Grinned Crowley.

“He has to fulfil his end of the deal Feathers made.” Bobby explained. “Gets him a ticket in if he behaves himself.”

Lisa nodded, unruffled. “Makes sense. Well, since you’ve seen us already we might as well go ahead with lunch. Kid,” Dean noticed with a bit of relief that she didn’t use Ben’s name in front of Crowley, “start on a salad. Will the King of Hell be joining us for lunch?”

“I prefer the blood of infants to ranch dressing.” Crowley mentioned casually, seeming a bit bewildered by Lisa’s blasé attitude. If he was hoping to rattle her with that comment he would be disappointed.

Lisa didn’t even blink. “Fresh out. Will lite Italian do?” Ben’s eyes were bugging out of his head, but he kept them firmly on his mother, refusing to make eye contact with Crowley. Dean caught him slipping his hand under his shirt to check that his charm was still in place.

“How domestic.” Crowley sighed, watching Lisa herd Ben towards the refrigerator. She kept him well out of Crowley’s reach and the demon actually stepped back to let them by. “Dean, your taste is getting a bit better, I’ll admit.”

“Back off!” Dean repeated.

“Down, boy.” grinned Crowley, perching on the edge of the table. “I don’t need a new chew toy at the moment.”

“What do you got for us?” Bobby asked, keeping his shotgun in hand and pointedly placing himself between the demon and the boy.

Crowley’s face seemed a bit more serious and he finally tore his gaze from Lisa and looked at Dean. “The cage is intact. Not a single whiff of activity from the bad part of town. Lucy and Mikey are still duking it out and grinding your brothers into a fine paste as far as I can tell. I’ve set guards at every single known passage into the ninth circle and even the two nobody knows but me. Hate to have that little secret out but I’ll kill them once they’re not needed so it’ll be fine.” He shrugged casually.

“You’re sure?” Dean asked.

“As sure as I can be.” Crowley nodded. “I even tracked down a few of the dissenters I didn’t have time to pick off on my rise to glory and am currently…persuading them to tell me if they’ve heard anything I might have overlooked.”

“Not everyone was happy to kiss your ass for eternity, hu?” Dean found a strange satisfaction in that.

“Shockingly, no.” Crowley sniffed, adjusting his cuffs and looking wounded. “Despite my endlessly loving and cuddly nature there were some that would rather have their tongues sliced repeated from their throats and fed to ravenous birds than swear allegiance.”

“Imagine that.” Bobby snarked.

“Baffling, isn’t it?” shrugged Crowley. “Sam’s ex-girlfriend, for one.”

Dean felt his blood still. “…Ruby?” he breathed. Not possible. She was dead. Like, _dead_ dead. Dean had stabbed her himself, watched the twisted soul behind her pretty brown eyes flicker and burn.

Crowley laughed. “No. That bitch is dead as a particularly lazy doornail.”

“Language.” Lisa said mildly.

Crowley’s glanced at her, glee snapping in his eyes. “Beg pardon.” He grinned. “But no, not Ruby.” he continued, watching Lisa calmly chopping an onion. She began to tear up a bit and to everyone’s surprise, Crowley whipped out his pocket square and offered it to her without a word. She raised her eyebrows but didn’t take it. Crowley grinned. “Smart girl.” He congratulated, tucking it away again. “I could think of all sorts of ways to use a pretty woman’s tears, you know. Lots of nasty little spells. Anyway, Dean, I believe you had the abject pleasure of meeting her as Meg?”

“Meg?” Dean blinked. “She’s alive?” He had a vision of rocker-chick hair and too-tight shirts.

“And regretting it.” Crowley said with a vicious smirk. “I’ve got my dogs harrying her every move. She’s been driven out of Hell entirely.”

“I’m sure that’s a real bummer.” Bobby snorted.

“Means she’s cut off from the infinite sushi bar of souls.” explained Crowley, “Which means she’s weak and desperate. As soon as I get my hands on her I’m going to make doubly sure she had nothing to do with this before I peel her hide off in two inch chunks and make a collage. If anyone were stupid enough to try and bust Lucifer free and reboot the End, it would be that-“ he glanced at Lisa, “young lady.” He finished. Lisa pursed her lips to keep from smiling. Great. The King of Hell was putting the moves on Dean’s… Lisa.

“You think this might be some sort of coup?” Bobby asked, glancing at Dean. They’d been so focused on angels that it was an angle they hadn’t thought of; some of Lucifer’s surviving henchmen in a desperate attempt to rescue their king. They’d need a vessel if they managed it, and who better than a prepped and damned Winchester? Maybe this was phase one?

Crowley shrugged. “I always think everything could be a coup. That’s why I’m still alive.”

“Yeah, ok, Humperdink.” Dean rolled his eyes. Lisa flashed him a grin from where she was unwrapping the last of the hamburger. Ben stayed behind her, chopping carrots and clearly trying to commit their every word to memory.

“It pays to be paranoid at the top. But no.” Crowley continued, ignoring Dean. “The cage is airtight and soultight and the archangels Heckle and Jekyll are still firmly tucked in for the night.”

“And Sam’s still in there?” Bobby asked.

Crowley shrugged. “Can’t get close enough for a polaroid but there are definitely two little human souls buzzing away in there. Unless you’ve got a long-lost cousin or something that somehow switched places with the Moose, you’re not dealing with Lucy or any of his vessels.”

“What the hell?” Dean muttered, not sure whether to be relieved or terrified.

“Which means, boys, that you’re on your own.” Crowley sighed dramatically. “Not that I wouldn’t love the opportunity to piss in your porridge just a few more times - you’ll excuse the language, miss - but I do have an underworld to run.”

“So you’re just washing your hands of it?” Dean demanded. Crowley knew more than he was saying, he was sure. Crowley was the master of lying by omission. Whether or not this particular tidbit had anything to do with the Sambeast roaming the countryside Dean couldn’t tell, and he didn’t know whether that meant he wanted to keep Crowley close or get him as far away as possible.

Crowley nodded cheerfully. “Whatever this is, it is a _Winchester_ problem, as in one I won’t touch with a ten-foot pole. The Apocalypse was great and all, but I’ve got my own interests now and that means I don’t have time to go flitting off with the Squirrel tracking down an imaginary Moose.”

“Dean.” They all spun to find Cas standing in the library doorway. Bobby’s shotgun was halfway to his shoulder before he recognized the angel and lowered it again. “I’ve found it.”

“Found what?” Dean wasn’t stupid enough to turn his back on the King of Hell, but he couldn’t help angling himself towards Cas eagerly.

“Crowley.” Cas seemed to notice the demon for the first time. “You’re late. Have you secured the cage?”

“Ship shape, Captain Cowlick.” Crowley threw him a mock salute. “As I was just telling your lovely henchmen, My end’s all shored up and I’ll be bidding you a fond and heartfelt farewell.”

“Go.” Cas flicked his hand dismissively and Crowley’s eyes popped wide in indignation before he fizzled out with a startled bip!

“Did you just kill him?” Ben breathed, clutching at his mother’s waist.

“No. Much as I’d like to I fear he will prove too useful later.” Cas seemed annoyed at the idea and Dean stifled a laugh.

“What did you find?” Bobby asked, bringing everyone back around to the subject at hand.

“A hideout. Carefully warded from angels, demons, and all manner of supernatural creature. It’s far more sophisticated than anything I’ve ever seen, but whatever magic guards it is fading fast. I believe that whatever this creature is, it’s hiding there.”

“So let’s go!” Dean leapt forward, ready for once to let Cas whisk him wherever he wanted. Wait for me, Sammy! He thought, his eyes already closed in preparation.

“Dean,” he opened them, nearly choking on his eagerness, “these wards are beyond anything I have ever seen.” Cas repeated, staring at Dean with that ‘my words are very significant even if your puny human brain can’t fathom why’ look.

“Okay. So we bust ‘em.” Dean shrugged. His skin was practically vibrating as his system flushed wish adrenaline. Finally something he could do. “What are we waiting for?”

“What has the juice to set up those wards?” Bobby asked suspiciously, propping his gun against the window casing.

“Exactly.” Cas nodded.

“Who cares?” Dean cried, hardly able to believe his ears. “Let’s go get him and figure this out!”

Cas frowned. “Dean, we cannot just go barrelling in blind.”

“Sammy’s in there!” Dean reminded him. Why were they all just standing there gawking at him?

Bobby narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer to Dean. “You’re not thinkin’ straight, boy.” He growled suspiciously. “You been meddled with?”

Dean stepped back in shock. “What do you mean?”

Bobby pursed his lips, his beard bristling. “You talk about caution and what this thing might be, but the minute you think it’s in reach you are ready to go sprinting in full tilt without half a notion of what might come for you. We don’t even know if this thing is in here. Cas just thinks it is. And you’re ready to go off half-cocked just on that? What’s up?”

Cas was nodding, his face pensive. “You are usually not so careless, even where Sam’s safety is concerned.”

Dean had no answer to that. “I… just…” he stammered. Just what? Just felt certain, absolutely certain that Sammy was out there, alone. If he could just get to him…

“I’m fine, guys. It’s just I want to take this thing down. I want to find out what it is and if it isn’t Sammy I want it dead.” Cas and Bobby traded skeptical looks. “I’m fine!” he insisted. “What the hell, guys? Just because I want to find the thing that’s wearing my brother around I’ve got to be screwed up in the head? And what if it is him? What if he’s out there alone? Do you know how many things want him dead? They’re after him! We’ve gotta find him!” He could hear himself getting more and more frantic but he couldn’t seem to stop. Even Ben was looking at him funny now.

“Dean,” Lisa stepped around the counter, taking his hand, forcing him to take a moment to breathe. “You ran out into the street in the middle of the night.”

“Yeah, but that’s-“

Lisa cut him off with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “After something you knew couldn’t be real.”

“But it-“

“If you knew Sam was stuck where he was then you knew it was most likely a monster or a demon or something worse.”

“But I-“

“You left the door open.”

Dean froze. Had he? Lisa brushed her thumb over his knuckles, a gentle smile on her face. “You spent all those nights checking that all your spells and protections were in place, carving things into the window sills and telling us never to go outside at night alone. And then the moment you saw this thing you run out and leave the door wide open.” She squeezed his hand. “That’s not you. You would never leave Ben unprotected. Something’s up.”

Glancing over at Ben he knew it was true. He would never, _never_ leave Ben exposed, no matter what. Sam or no Sam. “I…”

Cas was right up in his face, peering at him with squinty blue eyes and pursing his chapped lips. “You gave me permission to enter your mind several weeks ago, Dean.” He rumbled. Dean ignored the surprised twitch of Bobby’s eyebrows and tried to fight down the desperate urge to yell at them all. Sam was out there. He needed Dean.

“Yeah?” Dean grunted, feeling Lisa’s fingers tighten around his.

“You said it was ‘just that once’ but I would like permission again.”

“Why?” Dean was surprised to find that he didn’t recoil at the thought of that intrusion the way he used to. How long had it been since it became normal for Cas to walk around in his skull?

“I have a suspicion.” Cas said cryptically.

Dean glanced at Bobby, who had his ‘don’t ask me to make sense of angels’ face on. “Ok, I guess.” He agreed slowly, tamping down the urge to scream some sense into all of them.

“Sit down, Dean.” Cas commanded, pointing to the couch. Dean did as he was told, grateful for the last little squeeze Lisa gave his hand before releasing it. He looked up as she backed off, letting Cas take her place in front of him. “I’ll be as quick as possible.” The angel promised, reaching two fingers forward.

It wasn’t the same as before. He wasn’t yanked bodily back into any specific memory. He still saw all their faces, the nervous tilt of Lisa’s eyebrows as Cas’s fingers hit his temple. He stayed right where he was, but everything went sort of fuzzy. It was like that feeling just before falling asleep, the hazy blurring of the world around him. The soft brush of a dream against his psyche, almost soothing. His eyelids flickered as something familiar and cool skimmed the inside of his skull.

A gasp, but not from him.

Cas stumbled back, his fingers actually smoking. The smell of burned flesh flooded Dean’s nostrils and for a moment he tasted blood and despair. He shook off the flash of Hell and stood, grabbing Cas’s wrist before he could trip over Bobby’s threadbare carpet.

“Cas?” he yelped, not liking the angel’s expression one bit.

“How-“ Castiel choked. He raised his hand and Dean’s stomach flipped as he saw the skin peeled back from bone, blackened nails hanging off bloodied beds.

“Holy shit, Cas!” he cried, yanking Cas closer to inspect the wound. Before he could think what to do with it Cas’s skin warbled and warped, sliding up over the burns until his fingers were smooth and unblemished again. Dean had never seen Cas heal before, like, actually heal. He’d seen him hurt one minute and completely fine the next but the actual process was usually instantaneous. “Dude, are you ok?”

“Dean.” Cas said, still looking wild around the eyes. “Dean, that was grace.”

“Angel grace?” Balked Bobby, his eyes bugging.

“You’ve been blessed.” Cas breathed. Dean wasn’t sure why that was such a shock. Cas had healed him about a thousand times by now. As if still reading his mind Cas shook his head. “Blessed, Dean. Not healed or transported or anything else. A blessing…”

“And that’s different because…?” Dean’s skin was starting to crawl under Cas’s mystified stare.

“You should be invisible to angels.” Cas reminded him. “The Enochian on your ribs…” Dean rubbed his palm against his sternum, as if he might feel the tracks of Cas’s runes through his skin.

“What’s wrong with your ribs?” Ben asked, his eyes sharp. Dean had almost forgotten the kid was in the room.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Dean assured him. “Cas carved some symbols into them to keep me safe from angels. Sam had ‘em too.”

“He carved your bones?” Ben repeated, caught somewhere between horror and some sort of baby nerd-gasm. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Are you saying someone from corporate came all the way downstairs to sneak a blessing into the boy’s brainpan?” Bobby growled, drawing them back to the matter at hand. “Why would they do that?”

“The only one who would have that power is Raphael.” Cas shook his head. “Only an archangel could even begin…” he trailed off, staring through Dean like he was searching for more grace inside him.

Lisa crossed her arms, gripping her elbows tightly. “Isn’t he sort of the bad guy in all this?” she asked. Ben was still staring at Cas’s hand and looking like he might puke. Dean realized he was still holding it in his own. He dropped it, sitting back down and tossing a half-hearted grin the kid’s way.

“He’s not the good guy, that’s for sure.” He agreed. “But Cas, how would he have snuck into my skull without me noticing? He’s like… I don’t know, man. If you’re the Chrysler building he must be Mount Everest.” Cas nodded, not looking at all offended by the comparrison. “I remember how it felt being in that house with him in Maine.” Dean shuddered. “I would have _noticed_ if he was in my freaking head, wouldn’t I? And why would he bother?”

“I don’t know.” Cas admitted, flexing his newly-healed hand. “It was only the smallest trace of grace but it was quite protective.”

“Of itself?” Bobby asked.

“Of Dean.” Cas corrected.

“Someone’s protecting him?” Lisa suggested hopefully. If she thought there was a single angel outside this room who gave two shits about Dean then she hadn’t been paying attention.

Cas shook his head. “Not exactly. When an angel blesses someone they create a link between their own grace and the human’s soul. Any harm to the soul will harm the grace as well.”

“So it was protecting itself?” Dean asked.

“It was protecting you both.” Cas told him.

“What does this mean?” Bobby demanded, looking about as thrilled at the prospect of angels messing with Dean’s brain as Dean was himself.

Cas frowned, rocking from foot to foot in an uncharacteristic display of “How Raphael managed to overlay a blessing without my noticing is very concerning. He is anything but subtle. I can’t think how this could be to his advantage.”

“Well you’ve got a pretty big soft spot for the Winchesters.” Bobby suggested. “Maybe he’s trying to get under your skin?”

Cas huffed. “But I very clearly left Dean behind after Stull.” Dean decided to pretend that didn’t sting.

“Does that bring us back to Raphael as the one behind this Sam thing?” Bobby asked, looking none too pleased at the idea.

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t know. But he is the only one powerful enough to have done this.”

“Well, shit.” Bobby sighed.

“I’m the Michael Sword.” Dean reasoned, the word leaving a sour taste in his mouth. “Wouldn’t he want to protect me? You know, keep me fresh for his big brother?”

“Perhaps.” Cas looked unconvinced.

“Well, if that’s his game then it would make sense for him to be finding a replacement Sam, too.” Said Bobby.

Cas shook his head. “You cannot just construct a vessel like that.”

“Why not?” asked Dean. “You built me a new body after” he glanced at Ben, “… that.” Hell was definitely something he was hoping Lisa hadn’t mentioned in whatever she’d told the kid.

“I didn’t create a new body, just resurrected the old one.” Cas explained. “I breathed life back into the cells that had once made up your body, reformed you from what you had once been. I just healed. It is something else entirely to _create_ , Dean.” He said it as if it were the most basic concept in the world.

“Right.” Dean bit the inside of his cheek in frustration. This wasn’t getting him anywhere closer to Sam.

“Creation is reserved for God alone. If we could have done that you and Sam wouldn’t have even been necessary for the Apocalypse to take place.”

“Right.” Dean repeated. “So let’s go find this place and see why the hell Raphael is messing with my head and how he managed to find a Sam-bot to turn loose.” He was three steps toward the door when Cas moved to block him, his hand coming down on Dean’s shoulder like a lead weight.

“It’s not safe for you to leave the wards if you’re already compromised.” He said in his most serious tone.

Dean was gonna scream. He reigned in the urge to slap Cas’s hand away and set his jaw. “Cas, you are not leaving me behind again. If you even think of it I will just sneak out and follow you.” Ok, so he sounded like a sulky teenager but it was the goddamn truth. Cas’s frown deepened and his eyes flicked speculatively to the floor. “Last time you locked me in the panic room I escaped.” Dean reminded him. He was pretty sure Cas wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice but the point still stood. He was not going to be left behind.

Cas’s nostril’s flared as his eyes went dead flat. A crackle of electricity raced over Dean’s skin but he didn’t back down. “I’m going with you, Cas. It’ll be easier on both of us if you just accept it. At least if you know where I am you can keep an eye on me, right?”

After a long, hard stare Cas shook his head. “Fine. But I will remind you what happened last time you escaped the panic room. Don’t think I won’t do the same again if I have to.”

A flash of knuckle on bone, brick ripping at his hair. Dean nodded. “Got it.” Cas wouldn’t hesitate to beat Dean unconscious and zap him back here to keep him safe. Good to know. “Now let’s do this. Bobby, you’ll look after Lisa and Ben?”

Bobby nodded sourly. “Of course. You keep your head on straight out there. Maybe now you know about this blessing you can keep yourself from doing anything too stupid because of it, right?”

“Let’s hope so.” Dean agreed. “Lis…” he stalled. What the hell was he supposed to say?

Like she had so many times before, Lisa saved his ass. “I’ll see you when you get back, Dean.” She said.

“Right.” He turned back to Cas, squaring his shoulders and checking that the demon knife was still in the back of his jeans. “Let’s go.”


	13. Drop-Dead Sprint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the extremely long pause between updates but I needed to rework a lot of plot here. I have a personal challenge going on right now to post 50,000 new words between this and the other WIP I have on this site by the 14th of December, so hopefully it won’t be quite so long before the next chapter.  
> Feedback is life!
> 
> Recommended listening: Sinister Kid - The Black Keys
> 
> “And that’s me, that’s me  
> The boy with the broken halo  
> That’s me. That’s me.  
> The devil won’t let me be.”

Dean crouched in the grass, his boots wet through and his legs nearly numb from the ass down. Cas knelt behind him, irritatingly indifferent to the mud soaking through the knees of his suit pants and the rain sticking his hair to his forehead. Whatever bushes they were hiding in - like they were frigging Scooby and the gang - were full of thorns that left red trails along Dean’s wrists and neck. He guessed Cas didn’t feel those either.

Bastard.

They’d blinked in a few hundred yards away in a picturesque little meadow in the middle of a forest. The trees were just starting to turn, a blaze of yellows and oranges creeping through the green canopy all made brilliant and shining by the rain. It was a gorgeous spot, really. Dean barely noticed it, too focused on the little door set into the side of the hill in front of him to take in the scenery.

It was old, its flaking black paint stained bloody with rust where the hinges were melting into the wood. A stone lintel nearly eaten away by crumbling moss displayed a single carved symbol beside a date. 1859. The symbol wasn’t anything Dean recognized, sort of like a squashed star of David. No doubt if Sam were here he’d have already found it on his phone and known the whole history of it from ancient Mesopotamia to modern Mongolia. He’d know six different uses for it and how it could probably kill them in the wrong hands. But Sam wasn’t here. And Dean had never been the brains of the operation.

“It is a unicursal hexagram. The Star of Solomon.” Castiel said, and Dean had to wonder if he was reading his mind again. Apparently the twitch of his eyebrow was enough to communicate the worry because Cas rolled his eyes. “It’s the only clue we have to the significance of this place. Of course you would be wondering what it is. I don’t always need to read your mind to know what you’re thinking.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean groused. “What am I thinking right now?” he concentrated really, really hard on the idea of Cas getting a boot up his ass.

Cas sighed. “No doubt something unflattering about me inspired by your frustration.”

“Brilliant, Holmes.” Dean snarked.

Cas ignored him, pointing to the weird star. “That symbol once stood above the gates of Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” Dean balked. Castiel glared at him flatly.

“Focus on the task at hand, Dean.” He sighed.

Dean shook his head, spraying rainwater into Cas’s face. “Right. And what is that task, exactly?” As far as he could see sitting in the soggy grass for the rest of the day seemed to be Cas’s plan of attack.

“Watch.” Cas said, pointing to the door. He reached out to touch Dean’s temple and suddenly the forrest exploded. It was like the whole world was overlaid with ten different kaleidoscopes, swirling lights and colors he didn’t have names for igniting, flickering, dying all around him. And then the shattered bits of flame swirled and reformed and shattered again. Just when he thought his head was going to crack open from the force of it Cas took his fingers away.

“Jesus.” Dean breathed, gagging into the grass. It was worse than being teleported.

Cas didn’t seem to notice that he’d just turned Dean’s brain inside out. “Those are the wards.” He said. “More than I have ever seen, and of a level of sophistication I barely understand.”

“Don’t ever do that again!” Dean panted, spitting bile into the mud.

Cas ignored him. “I am attempting to find patterns, clues as to what might have done this.”

“Yeah? How’s that going for you?”

“It’s difficult to say.” Cas frowned. “These magics come from a mix of at least a hundred different religions and races. There is fairy magic, Minoan curses, Canaanite and Hebrew protections. There is even Enochian.”

“So we’re thinking angels are behind this?” Dean guessed.

Cas shook his head. “Few would have the capability, and those that did would be unlikely to tarnish themselves with such magic.”

“Any demonic stuff?” Dean asked, “Anything we should be asking Crowley about?” He wouldn’t put it past that weasel to have stolen a few tricks from the angels along the way.

Cas shook his head. “No. Not a scrap of dark magic, though certainly not all white.” he huffed. “I have discerned one thing, however. One name that I believe is meant to both draw in its owner and keep them safe from harm while here. If I’m translating correctly, I mean.” Cas’s pissy frown didn’t do much for Dean’s enthusiasm for that information.

When Cas didn’t elaborate, just glared at the door in the hill like it had insulted his mother, Dean prodded him on. “And that’s bad because…?”

“Because it’s your name.” Cas growled.

“What?” Dean squeaked.

“It’s your name.” Cas repeated, sounding even more pissed than before. “Repeated over and over, hundreds of times. It’s woven into half the wards on this place, and expertly. This place is _for_ you.”

Dean stared at the door, trying not to think how much it looked like the entrance to a crypt. “Uh…” What the hell? “Is this the same guy that blessed me, then? Raphael making some weird trap for me? Why?”

Cas shook his head. “I do not know. But I don’t feel Raphael in this.” They stared at the door again for a few minutes. Well, Dean stared at the door. He guessed Cas was staring that that freaky web of disco magic.

“So what do we do?” Dean asked finally, flexing his hands at his sides. “Storm the place?”

“That would be unwise.” Cas murmured.

Dean let out a growl. “Well what’s your idea? You rushed me out here why? To creep in the bushes until something happens? Until someone comes? That could be days. Or weeks. Or never!” Dean could feel the frustration building again, that desperate, pressing need for action. To do something. To move.

“Dean.” Castiel cautioned, his hand clamping on Dean’s shoulder. “Think.”

“I am thinking!” Dean protested.

Cas shook his head. “No, you are feeling. You are feeling the effects of this blessing. This place is calling to you, the same as that creature. Think past that. Try.”

Dean wanted to stomp in frustration. He didn’t - mostly because he wasn’t six - but also because Cas had a point. From the second he’d laid eyes on that door he’d wanted in, wanted to bust it down and get into whatever was behind it like he wanted air. Sitting here staring at it unable to get to it had been twisting his guts like fucking food poisoning.

“Fine.” He huffed. “So what do we do?”

Cas loosened his grip, seeming to trust whatever he saw in Dean’s face. “We wait.” he said.

Goddamnit, Dean was going to chew out his own tongue. “For what?” he snapped.

Before Cas could come up with an answer a heavy click echoed through the trees. Their eyes snapped to the door as the iron latch flicked itself upward, the hinges screaming in protest as the door swung inward to reveal a black pit of nothingness. Cas slipped his blade from his sleeve and Dean’s hand flew to the demon knife in his belt. But before either could take so much as a step towards the door a figure appeared, a very odd figure.

She was tiny, perhaps four-foot eight at the outside, with long brown hair pulled into a tangled braid. Her little body was swathed in a pair of ragged jeans and a dusty t-shirt that was at least two sizes too big for her. She was barefoot and scruffy looking, smudges of dirt on her hands and face. If Dean had to guess he’d have said she was maybe eleven or twelve, but her movement gave her away instantly. Just three steps out the door and she had every hair on Dean’s body standing on end, alert to her lithe control. Whatever it was standing under that stone lintel it was a hell of a lot older than twelve and definitely not human.

“Ok, boys,” she called in a steady, piercing tone, “now before you get your panties in a twist can we all just calm the hell down?”

“What are you?” Castiel demanded, stepping in front of Dean like he expected this little girl to fling herself twenty feet through the trees at him and tear his eyes out.

“Not much, nowadays.” She smiled. Cas raised his blade but she just rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, little brother!” she cried, planting her fists on her skinny hips. “Don’t tell me you don’t recognize me?”

Dean and Cas shared a baffled glance, Cas’s grip tightening around his blade.

“Well how do you like that?” she fussed. “I help the Chuckle Brothers save the whole goddamn world and my own family can’t even give me the time of day.”

“Who are you?” Dean hissed, cutting through the bullshit. If Cas was family it meant this bitch was an angel and the list of angels Dean didn’t want dead or a million miles from him was pretty much down to one.

She sighed and shoved her hands in her pockets, coming out with something it took him a second to recognize as a lollipop. “This jog your memory, Dean-o?” she asked, popping it in her mouth. She rolled it into her cheek with her tongue and tilted an eyebrow at him.

Dean cringed. “Dude, gross. I’m not into jail bait.”

The girl laughed. “Oh, for the love of Dad, Cassie this boy is about as perceptive as a lump of mammoth shit. I don’t know how you tolerate him.”

Dean snuck a peek at Cas again and froze. The angel’s eyes had gone wide, his mouth set in a tight line. A thump had Dean glancing down to where Cas’s numb fingers had dropped the blade in the grass. Not a good sign.

“Gabriel?” Cas breathed and Dean’s eyes snapped back to the girl. Couldn’t be. It couldn’t frigging be. Gabriel was dead, had been for nearly a year. He’d joined the fight in the eleventh hour and tanked it in Muncie.

The girl grinned, wide and feral, twiddling her fingers at them in a cheeky wave. “How’s it going, boys? Finally decided to accept my invitation, I see.”

“But you… you’re dead!” Dean stammered, remembering massive wings smudged into soot and an empty vessel. “Lucifer killed you.”

The girl - Gabriel, apparently - waved her hand like she was batting a fly. “Yeah, well. He’s in the pit and I’m not so there’s not much sense in holding a grudge, is there?”

“But how?” Cas wheezed, taking a cautious step forward. Dean scooped up his blade and pressed it back into his hand before he could get too close. He got a blue-eyed glare for his effort but the girl just seemed amused.

The girl shook her head, wiggling her toes in the damp mast. “You didn’t think I was gonna go up against Lucy without some kind of fall-back plan, did you? One last trick up my very talented sleeve?”

“But the DVD?” That stupid Casa Erotica dvd that had appeared in the trunk, that was his note. That was his goodbye and good luck, his sign off.

“Dean-o, if I’ve learned one thing over the years it’s that every backup plan needs a backup plan.” She said, twirling the lollipop in her fingers.

“You blessed him.” Cas said, gesturing to Dean with his blade.

The girl snickered and shoved the lollipop in her cheek. “Yep. Took you forever to notice it. Honestly, I thought we’d be sitting here ’til Christmas waiting for you two to buy a vowel.”

“‘We?’” Dean repeated, a wild hope surging through him.

“Yeah. We.” The girl nodded. “When you didn’t get with the program I had to send out the infantry. Wasn’t really part of the plan but I was running out of options. Had to pull out the big gun, so to speak.”

“What are you talking about?” Cas asked. Dean kept his teeth clenched, not even daring to think it. It wasn’t possible. If two archangels keen on the apocalypse couldn’t breach the cage, their delinquent little brother definitely couldn’t. If Satan and God’s First Soldier couldn’t bust out then Gabriel couldn’t bust in. But then again he was supposed to be dead and here he was, peering at Dean from behind some little girl’s face.

The girl sighed dramatically, turning to call over her shoulder into the doorway. “Come on out, kid. No sense in building the suspense.”

He unfolded from the darkness like a fucking popup book, miles of leg and arm and goddamn hair straightening up in the rain and letting Dean’s eyes hit him like a freight train.

“Sam.” Breathed Dean. And Cas’s grasping hand, Gabriel’s smug smile, a goddamn army of demons and angels and fucking unicorns wasn’t going to keep him back. The demon knife hit the mud with a muted splat. Dean charged across the clearing at a drop-dead sprint, flinging himself into the arms of his little brother. His very not-dead little brother. As those gangly arms closed around him and his rain-drenched coat squelched at the force of his hug Dean felt something in him break.

Sam.

“Hey, Dean.”


	14. Just a Little Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Wtf? - OK Go
> 
> “I've been trying to get my head around  
> What the fuck is happening?  
> I've been trying to make some sense out of  
> Whatcha do with my head?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! So my attempt at a writing challenge unfortunately was dashed by a massive dose of Real Life. I might make another run at it sometime in the new year but for the next few months I'm just going to try to stick to getting new chapters out as often as I can. Thanks for hanging in there with me. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays!!  
> PS this chapter's a bit heavy on the exposition but I hope it's not too messy. Feedback is life!!

Dean held on.

He had no idea what time was passing, what the voices around him were saying, whether the earth was falling out from beneath his feet or burning to ash around him. All he knew was the smell of home filling his nose, the familiar heart beating against his chest.

Sam.

It was him. He was here. It was him. Dean held on, irrationally afraid that if he let up the ground would open up and swallow Sam all over again and Dean would be alone.

“Dean,” Sam grunted, and the sound of his voice vibrating through the side of Dean’s skull nearly knocked Dean flat. “I can’t breathe.”

“I don’t care if you can fucking breathe.” Dean growled into Sam’s shoulder and squeezed harder. He couldn’t let go.

“Dean!” The sharp note of alarm in Cas’s voice was the only thing that could pull Dean out of his head, even if it didn’t pull him out of Sam’s arms. He twisted around just enough to see the wide-eyed panic on the angel’s usually stoic face. “That is not Sam Winchester.”

Dean snorted at him. Of course it was Sam. What the hell was Cas talking about? It was Sam.

“Well, not all of him.” The Gabriel/girl shrugged, looking sheepish.

“What do you mean, ‘not all of him’?” Cas asked, squinting.

“It’s sort of a long story.” Gabriel hedged. Sam leaned back with a lopsided smile that beat at Dean’s brain.

“You look like you’re about to fall down.” he observed, taking Dean’s shoulder in one massive hand and shoving him back a step. Dean’s arms flopped heavy and useless at his sides. He couldn’t seem to open his eyes wide enough to take in the man in front of him. Sam. The thin slash of his eyebrow tilted in amusement, the sharp tip of his nose glistening with rain. Sam. The slight cleft in his chin and that little mole on his cheek their mother had called an angel kiss. The goddamn fucking dimples… Sam. It was actually Sam.

“Sam.” He said stupidly.

His gargantuan little brother smiled down at him. “Maybe we should get them inside, Gabriel?” Sam (Sam!) suggested. “We can explain in there.”

Cas actually growled. “We’re not going anywhere until you explain what you are.” he said, stepping closer to Dean. What the hell was his problem? They both had their brothers back from the dead - or maybe sister, in Cas’s case, but whatever - and he was acting like they were the enemy. Dean glared at him.

“Look, Cas, I get it.” Sam said, stepping around Dean to approach the angel. To Dean’s horror Castiel raised his blade, blocking Sam’s approach. He dropped into a defensive stance, one foot planted firmly in the leaves behind him and his weight balanced and ready to shift. Sam paused, looking at the blade with mild interest. He didn’t seem particularly phased that one of his best friends was threatening to slice him to celestial ribbons. “I get it. I’m not…” he paused, frowning slightly as he searched for the words, “I don’t look the same to you.”

“No.” Cas agreed, still calmly staring over the tip of his blade. What the hell was wrong with him?

Sam nodded. As if this all made perfect sense. “Well I’m not the same. But I’m not anything dangerous. I’m me.”

“Cas,” Dean croaked, “put the knife down, you psycho. It’s Sam!”

“It is not.” Cas insisted, taking a menacing step forward.

“Woah, cool your jets, little bro.” Gabriel cried, leaping between him and Sam. “Look, you know it’s _me_ , right? You recognize me?” Cas frowned at her but nodded, his eyes cutting back to Sam. “Right. Well, take my word on this. It is Sam.” A strange look flickered over her face. “Kind of.”

Sam shifted impatiently. “Wouldn’t it be a better idea to discus this inside the protections where not just anyone can hear us?” he pouted. Goddamn Dean had missed that pissy tone.

“Yeah, sure thing, Sasquatch.” Gabriel said, taking another step closer to Cas.

“Well let’s move this along then.” Sam rolledup his sleeve. “He’s not dumb enough to go anywhere with us without some proof that I am what I say I am.” He turned up his fist, baring his forearm to Cas with a stoic expression. “An angel blade would show if I was anything I shouldn’t be, right?” he asked.

Cas glanced from Sam’s face to his forearm, calculating. Without a word he slashed out, the tip of his blade flashing as it neatly sliced through Sam’s skin. Dean lunged forward to grab at Sam and yank him back but it was unnecessary. Cas took a quick step back and Sam just winced. A single fat drop of blood gathered along the little cut, running down the curve of his arm to hang dark from his elbow.

“Good enough to come inside the wards?” Sam asked as he produced a fast food napkin from his pocket and pressed it to the cut. Cas still looked unsure when he glanced at Dean, his eyebrows pinching together. Dean silently pleaded with him. What more was Sam supposed to do to prove it was him?

Gabriel rolled her eyes. “Come on, Castiel. I swear on the name of our father that nothing is going to happen to you or Dean if you come with us inside. It’s safe, ok?” Cas stared at her for another long moment. When he didn’t budge Gabriel sighed. “Gonna make me beg, hu?” she muttered, rubbing a hand over her face in a bizarrely adult gesture. She tilted her head up and spit out a garbled string of harsh syllables - Enochian, Dean recognized. Whatever she said was like an electric charge through Castiel. He stood straight up, his eyes widening in shock as his blade dropped to his side.

“Ok?” Gabriel asked hopefully, switching back into English.

Cas nodded, his face still blank in shock. Good enough. Dean grabbed Sam by the wrist, dragging him away from the angels and toward the door in the hill before Cas could come up with any more objections. Answers. He was going to know how. And why. And how long Sam had been topside. And once it was explained he was going to be absolutely sure that Sam was back and he wasn’t going anywhere ever a-goddamn-gain.

“Hold up, cowboy.” Gabriel chirped, popping her lollipop back in her mouth and jumping in front of him. It was weird looking down into her little heart-shaped face and seeing those same amber eyes and sarcastic smirk. It really was Gabriel in there. “Lemme just…” She raised her thin hand and waved it around in a complicated series of gestures. Cas gasped. If Dean could’ve taken his eyes off his little brother he would have seen subtle warping and flashes in the air around him. As it was he just stared at the stupid curl framing Sam’s left ear and tried his damnedest not to bust into sloppy tears.

“There.” Gabriel said, nodding to herself. “That should let Castiel in without popping his wings off or anything. At least,” she squinted, examining something Dean couldn’t see in the air near her right shoulder. “I think it should.”

“You’re not sure?” Cas asked, and Dean had to admit that sounded pretty sketchy even through his hazy focus.

Gabriel blushed prettily and shrugged. “I’m uh, I’m not quite all here either. If you couldn’t tell.”

“Inside.” Sam insisted, nudging Dean toward the door. “We can discuss it inside.”

Dean nearly fainted in relief when Cas took a grudging step forward. As he got closer to the door under the weird symbol he realized that the darkness beyond the threshold wasn’t a simple shadow, but a solid wall of black. Before he could get a good look at it Cas pushing in front of him, reaching out to touch it. Dean flinched when he realized that was the same hand that had been charred by the blessing in his head that morning (had it really only been a few hours ago?) but instead of anything explosive Cas’s hand just sank into the dark, a little swirl of black dust dancing around the cuff of his trench coat. He drew it back out, blackness sticking to his knuckles like wet sand.

“Sumerian shadow summoning?” Cas guessed, looking almost impressed as he glanced at Gabriel. The girl only shook her head.

“Dunno.” She admitted. “Like I said, I’m not all here, really. Most of these spells were on the place before I even found it. I understand how most of them work but I don’t know the names. There’s a few that still have me stumped.” Dean felt a little pinprick of worry. Gabriel saw his expression and waved her little hands. “Don’t worry. We’ve been here for six months and nothing’s burned me or banished me or drained me yet.”

“Six months?” The air in Dean’s lungs froze solid. Six months. Sam had been topside for six months.

“Inside!” Sam said again, and before Cas could raise any more objections he grabbed Dean’s wrist and tugged him through the door.

If he’d had the time or brainpower to think about it Dean might have expected something to happen, something close to the feeling of being whammied or zapped, but there was nothing. He passed into the dark and felt nothing, just found himself standing on a smooth stone floor. It was a little balcony, a wrought iron railing trailing to a narrow staircase on the right. Below was a small, circular room illuminated by four steel lamps hanging from the domed ceiling. It was just wide enough for two steel bunkbeds to fit on one side and a massive old wooden desk on the other. Behind the bunks the wall was covered with steel cabinets, their doors emblazoned with a bronze devil’s trap at each corner. The rest of the walls were lined with bookshelves stuffed with papers and old, cloth-bound books. The same weird star symbol from the lintel was set into the slate floor in a white stone that might have been marble.

“What is this place?” Dean asked as Cas and Gabriel stepped through the door behind him.

“Not sure.” Gabriel said, rolling her lollipop from one cheek to the other.

“There’s not much you’re sure of, is there?” Dean observed, quirking an eyebrow at her. From what he remembered Gabriel always had an answer for everything.

“Is there anything we can really be sure of, Dean?” She grinned, trotting down the stairs as her braid bounced behind her. “But in answer to your question not really, no.” Sam tramped down the stairs behind her, Dean and Cas trailing along as they inspected the place. There were symbols all over the walls, some carved in, some painted or drawn on. Dean recognized a fair number of them but there were hundreds crowded together on every surface. A few were moulded out of silver or bronze and bolted on. Every inch of the railing beneath his hand was covered, that star symbol showing up about every foot. Every step of the concrete staircase was covered in protective glyphs. Cas was still staring at the air around him and Dean figured the place must be at least as full of magic as the outside had been.

“How are you even here?” Dean asked, turning his attention from the building to the girl. It was so obvious that she was more that just a little girl, but he could hardly believe Gabriel had managed to somehow survive Lucifer. And if he had, why hadn’t he come to help them when shit went down at Stull? “We thought you were dead. I saw those wing smudges. I thought that meant, you know, it.” He slashed a finger across his throat in the international symbol for biting the dust. Before Gabriel could answer Cas was suddenly right up against Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean?” he asked, peering at him closely.

“Yeah?” Dean grunted, leaning back as Cas crowded into his space.

“Are you feeling alright?” Cas asked in the same tone he would ask how Dean had lost a limb. Dean almost made a joke until he realized that actually, he did feel alright. He felt weirdly normal. Confused as fuck, but ok. Good, even. Or at least as close to good as he could remember feeling. It took a second before he recognized the difference, what was missing. That urge, that demand that had been beating at the inside of his skull for weeks, growing and growing since that first night at Lisa’s - find Sam find Sam find Sam - was gone. Not dulled or muted, just gone. He looked over at girl-Gabriel and found her grinning at him.

“Sorry about that.” She said, dragging herself up on her palms to sit on the desk. Dean noticed runes carved into it beneath her hands. “Had to get your attention somehow.”

Dean scowled at her. “Couldn’t have sent me a freaking postcard?” Now that he was apparently clear of the blessing he was starting to get pissed that the guy (girl?) had messed with his head. At least Cas had the decency to ask these days.

“Needed you curious, not in hunting mode.” She explained. “And besides, I needed to be sure you weren’t going to alert my whole family to the fact that I survived before I got a chance to explain myself. The last thing I need is one of them trying to take advantage of my situation.”

Dean growled. Like he’d ever be in cahoots with the heavenly host. He’d seen how they handled humans who tried to work with angels and he wasn’t really a fan of being treated like an idiot puppy. “Which brings me back to my original question, how are you not dead?”

She smirked. “I’m very clever, Dean. That’s how.”

“So you keep saying.” Sam snarked. He was busy rummaging around in one of the lockers through what looked like a stash of ancient medical supplies.

“Hey, I found us this place, didn’t I?” She challenged. Sam just grunted.

“So this isn’t some secret angel clubhouse?” Dean asked, looking around again. It kind of reminded him of the green room Zachariah had locked him in in the lead up to the apocalypse - something about the stillness of the air, like they were totally sealed off from the rest of reality - but Cas shook his head immediately.

“Nah.” Gabriel agreed. “We’re too snooty to dip into half this magic. If it ain’t heavenly it ain’t touching our lily-white fingers.”

Dean huffed. “Man, you really aren’t yourself, are you?” Nothing about Gabriel had been lily-white with heavenly purity, not when Dean had known him - or her. The way Dean remembered it, Gabriel had at least a hundred times more blood under his left pinkie nail than the entire Winchester family had on their hands put together.

“Nope.” Agreed Gabriel as Sam pulled out a bottle made of dark glass and some gauze. “Can’t even heal a freaking scrape at the moment. That’s what dying will do to a guy.”

“Luckily this place has a full compliment of first aid supplies.” Sam said. He unscrewed the cap on the bottle and Dean’s nose filled with the scent of iodine. Sam splashed a bit on his arm and pressed the gauze to it. Dean was about to tell Cas to fix it but Sam must have seen it on his face and shook his head. “Not yet. He still doesn’t trust me and this little scrape isn’t worth pushing him.”

Cas risked a step closer, his hands still held slightly away from his body, ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice. “Don’t mistake me,” he said. “I would be extremely happy to see you, but-“

“But you can’t see me.” Sam finished with a nod.

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. “You’re right here?” And just to reassure himself of that fact he reached out and grabbed Sam’s shoulder. His whole body jolted with joy at the contact but Sam just sat there.

“But I don’t look the same to an angel.” Sam explained, not bothering to break eye-contact with Cas to look at Dean. “The way it’s been explained to me angels don’t really see faces. They see souls. Right?”

Cas nodded. “Winchesters souls in particular shine extremely brightly.”

Sam quirked a little smile at Cas as he rubbed his knuckles against his chest, as though he were soothing an ache. “And you can’t see mine.”

“What?” Dean looked to Cas, hoping for an explanation. Was Hell still too thick on Sam to see through? Dean could remember when he’d crawled out into that clearing, fresh from Hell and still raw with it. He had felt a sort of scum on his soul, a film of blood and terror that had never quite rubbed off all the way. If Sam was in the cage the residue was probably a hundred times as thick. That had to be what he was talking about.

Cas glanced at Dean, a strange tilt that looked almost like worry shaping his eyebrows. “I told you this thing was empty.” He said softly, blinking at Sam as if trying to see through to the center of him.

“He’s not a thing.” Snapped Dean. Cas didn’t flinch.

“Well,” Sam shrugged, “I kind of am. At least, at the moment. Right, Gabriel?”

“From the Black Lagoon.” Nodded Gabriel with a grin.

Dean was about a minute from stamping his foot like a toddler. “Would one of you tell me what the hell is going on?”

Gabriel sighed. “Cool your jets, Dean-o. Obviously, I survived. Well, not really, but a bit of me did.”

“How?” Dean demanded.

“Complicated.” Gabriel shrugged. “You ever read Harry Potter?”

“Psht.” Dean scoffed.

“Of course he did.” Sam supplied. Dean glared at him, expecting a mocking grin but finding only a pleasant smile. Well, it was his fault anyway. Sam had always been a goddamn nerd. Some of that was bound to rub off on Dean over the years no matter how hard he tried to keep his natural cool at the forefront. “I bought them all and he read them after me.” Explained Sam and Dean tried to find any hints of mockery.

Gabriel snorted. “Shoulda known you’d be a freaking Pottermore kid, Sambo. Bet you wet yourself when you got sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“I do not understand why these books are relevant to this discussion.” Said Cas.

“Right, right.” Gabriel flapped her little hand in acknowledgement. “I kinda pulled a Voldemort. But, you know, in a less evil, less wizard-nazi kind of way.”

Despite the fact that Gabriel was currently possessing a little girl, Dean fought down an all-too familiar urge to punch her in the gut. “Get to the point.” He growled.

“When an angel possesses someone they leave a tiny little scrap of their grace behind.” Explained Gabriel.

“I know that.” Dean grated.

“Good for you.” Gabriel snipped. “Well, I’ve been on earth a very long time. I’m really, really good at convincing people to let me possess them. Like, really good. Usually takes five minutes, tops.”

“Name recognition seems to help.” Sam supplied. He had his thoughtful scholar look on and Dean’s heart twisted in a weird mix of glee and sorrow. “Castiel has to talk to Jimmy for a few weeks before he would agree to let him in because he wasn’t a very well known seraph. But everyone has heard of Gabriel.”

“Right.” Gabriel agreed with a smug grin. “So when I decided to throw my lot in with you morons in a bid to stop Dear Old Lucy’s Grand Temper Tantrum I did a little prep first.”

“Prep?” Cas tilted his head.

Gabriel nodded. “Went around possessing every single vessel I could find that could manage to host an archangel for more than a few seconds without self-destructing. Managed to find eighty-three. At least, that I know of so far.”

“Jesus!” Dean exclaimed.

“Yeah, it was freaking exhausting.” Gabriel drooped, flopping back across the lower bunk and spreading her skinny arms. “Eugh. Sammy, you should shower before bed. These sheets stink of Moose.”

“Try to stay focused.” Sam sighed.

“Right.” She chirped, sitting up. “Luckily for me, I’ve always had more stamina than I knew what to do with so I managed to possess all of them.” The little girl winked and licked her lips in a far-too-adult-for-her-size manner. Dean gagged. “Anyway,” Gabriel laughed. “Those little bits of grace sort of call to each other. Over a few months some of those vessels found each other. The little bits of grace started coagulating, seeking each other out and conglomerating until there was enough in one place to let me actually think.”

“Is this legit?” Dean asked, turning to Cas. “Could that actually work?”

Castiel shrugged. “I have never heard of such a thing but it could be possible. I certainly can feel the bit of grace I left in Claire Novak even now.” A wistful look passed over Cas’s features for a moment and Dean blinked. So Claire Novak was still alive. That was good. Maybe. “But the grace left behind in a vessel is a minuscule amount.” Cas continued.

“Yep.” Gabriel nodded. “Hence the eighty-three volunteers.” Dean wasn’t sure why but the idea of Gabriel popping in and out of eighty-three people in a span of a few days creeped him out completely.

“How many vessels had to find one another before you were cognizant?” Castiel asked in fascination.

Gabriel scratched at the back of her neck, thinking. “Maybe twenty? I’m not sure. It wasn’t like a light switch coming on. It was sort of like… I don’t know. Waking from a dream. Or, what I would assume waking from a dream feels like after observing a few millennia of human dreams.”

“Fascinating.” Castiel breathed. The guy looked about two seconds from creaming his pants over all this mystical mojo talk.

“But how did Sam get here?” Dean demanded. All this grace stuff was great and all but truth be told he didn’t really give a good goddamn why Gabriel was here. The important thing was why, how, and when Sam had gotten here.

Gabriel pinched her little mouth into a pout. “I’m not sure.”

Dean slammed his fist on the desk. “Bullshit!” he hollered.

“It’s the truth, Dean.” Sam said, his voice even and soothing. “I woke up in the middle of Lebanon Road in Collinsville, alone. No hand-print or any other sign of who might have yanked me topside. Same clothes I had on me at Stull, no scars and only the vaguest memory of Hell.”

Dean twitched. “You… you don’t remember Hell?” He’d tried that song and dance on Sam all those months ago and it hadn’t worked for shit. Surely Sam knew he couldn’t hide Hell PTSD from him?

“Really, Dean.” Sam assured him, smiling easily. It was the kind of smile Dean hadn’t been able to manage since that hellhound had first sunk its claws into him. “I remember little pieces, right at first.” Sam explained, his eyes growing distant. “Darkness, freezing cold. Aching cold.” He shook himself and shrugged. “But that’s about it.”

Dean remembered Lucifer drawing in frost on the window. “Uh-hu. So how is it you’re sitting in the bat-cave with this dickbag?” Dean demanded. Maybe there was no explanation because none of this was real. Maybe he had finally, finally snapped. Maybe he was sitting in Lisa’s flowered armchair talking to thin air.

Seeming to sense that Dean was fraying at the edges, Cas stepped wordlessly up behind him and Dean let his solid presence ground him.

“I knew he was there. No idea how.” Gabriel said, staring at Sam with a frustrated frown. “I’m too freaking clever for my own good, sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked.

Gabriel shook her head. “I must have done something before I bit the dust to make sure I got to people who would know what to do with me if I ever made it back to being me.” she explained, tugging at her braid.

“And you thought that would be us?” Dean didn’t know whether to be flattered or pissed that the little twerp would think she could just waltz back in from beyond the grave and expect them to drop everything to help her.

“I thought that would be Castiel.” Gabriel corrected him with a flat glare. “In case you haven’t noticed, he’s about the only one of my siblings who couldn’t win Cockbiter of the Year.”

Cas flicked his head to the side. “Who would bite-“

“Nevermind, Cas!” Dean and Gabriel said together.

“Anyway,” Gabriel continued. “I must have done something to make sure I could find any surviving Winchesters and get to Castiel but damned if I know what it was. I found Sam in Belleville, Illinois. He was living in one of those rathole motels you boys love so much hunting down a shtriga.”

Dean looked at Sam. “You were hunting? By yourself?”

Sam shrugged. “Caught wind of it sort of by accident. Figured it needed to be dealt with.”

“Why didn’t you come find me?” Dean demanded. “I…I was losing my mind.” Sam had been up here this whole time, and Dean had been sitting in Lisa’s spare room just stewing in misery and guilt and pouring his stupid broken heart out to a vacant angel who was too busy trying to keep Heaven from imploding to actually visit. What the fuck?

“Dean,” Sam started in that perfectly level, reasonable tone that drove Dean right off the deep end, “You were happy. You were safe.”

“So? You could have come to me, Sammy. You could have been safe too!” Sam shook his head, a pitying look crawling over his face.

“No, Dean. I couldn’t have.”

“Well why the hell not?” Dean demanded.

“You mean besides the fact that he should basically be wallpaper paste in the Devil’s drawing room?” Gabriel chirped. Dean flipped her the bird and continued to stare at Sam. He was going to get an answer, damnit.

“Gabriel’s right.” Sam sighed. “I am supposed to be in Hell. In an inescapable cage designed to hold the Devil himself, and yet I somehow wound up back on earth without a scratch and in complete possession of my own body. It doesn’t take a genius to know that I am trouble on two legs right now. I knew you were going to find Lisa, that you would basically have to after I made it my dying wish and all, so you didn’t have to be a player on this board.”

“You didn’t think I might like to know you were alive?” Dean couldn’t fucking believe his ears.

Sam’s lips pinched in that weird way that said he knew he was about to piss Dean off. “I didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?” Dean repeated.

For the first time Sam’s face registered something more than mild annoyance. He pulled a real, actual bitchface and Dean had the bizarre urge to smoosh his little brother’s cheeks in his hands like old women at the grocery store had when Sam was a chubby toddler. “Because I knew you’d try to fix this.”

“Fix what?” Dean barked.

“Me!” Sam barked right back.

Castiel startled. “You don’t want to be fixed?”

“Afraid not.” Gabriel shook her head, glaring at Sam like he was a poorly-trained monkey. “He’s dead set on staying like this.”

“Like what?!” Dean all but screamed.

“Dean,” Sam said, looking him in the eye. “Castiel is right. I’m empty. When I came back from Hell my soul didn’t come with me.”

Dean blinked. Oh. Oh just frigging great.


	15. Playing With Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long pause again, I'm really trying to get new chapters out!! Please let me know what you think!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Play With Fire - The Rolling Stones
> 
> “But don’t you play with me  
> Cause you’re playing with fire.”

Awesome.

Just perfect.

The Winchester boys had been back together for all of ten minutes and someone was already minus a soul. Par for the course. If he could have summoned the energy Dean would have laughed. But as it turned out, being zapped to the middle of nowhere, meeting an archangel that’s supposed to be dead - or some of the amalgamated bits of an archangel that was supposed to be dead trapped inside a random little girl - having to prevent your best friend from killing your little brother (who, just by the way, was also supposed to be dead) and then storming into a secret weirdo magical clubhouse just to be told that actually your brother’s soul is still in Hell and it’s just his body walking around back here on earth… well all that was fucking exhausting. So instead of laughing Dean just stood there, blank.

“How did you find this place?” Cas was asking, keeping on point as if the news that one of his best friends was minus a soul was totally normal. Peachy keen. NBD.

Gabriel shrugged. “Hate to sound like a broken record but I have no idea. I just… knew it was here. Must have left myself a clue somewhere along the way but one of the first whole thoughts I remember having was that I had to get to a Winchester and get here.” Cas had pursed his lips, considering. “And of course the second I saw it, all lit up with Wonderboy’s name here,” Gabriel swung her arm to indicate Dean and shrugged, letting the thought dissolve.

“You didn’t do that?” Cas blinked, looking mildly alarmed. If Dean could have scraped together enough braincells to be worried then that look on Cas’s face would have done it.

“Nope.” Gabriel chirped, kicking her heels against the desk in a stuttering, obnoxious rhythm. “Whatever this place is it wanted Dean here all on its own.”

Cas stared at Dean, apparently hoping the answer to this mystery would be written across his forehead in sharpie. Dean just stared back at him, wondering if it might be.

Gabriel went on. “Aside from his name blinking a million times above door, about the only clue we’ve found to what this place is are some files.” She looked to Sam, who slid open the top drawer of the desk and pulled out a manilla folder.

“It’s mostly pretty routine stuff.” Sam explained, his voice still so achingly familiar it made Dean’s world tilt sideways. “Inventories, repair logs for the generators, that kind of thing. It all dates between 1859 and 1956. But get this,” _Get this, get this, get this_ Sam’s voice rang a hundred times in Dean’s memory, “It’s all signed with the same name: Albertus Magnus.”

“A century of the same name. Dear old Albertus.” Gabriel nodded.

“But in at least 30 different handwritings.” Continued Sam. “And see here,” he handing Castiel a sheaf of yellowed papers, “there’s this mark at the end of each one.” Cas took the papers, looking over the signature after each entry. Dean could see different inks, different hands. Some wrote the name in huge, graceful loops, others in cramped little nubs. Some slanted right, some left. One near the top was painstakingly neat while a few at the bottom were a barely intelligible scrawl. A small, ovular smudge followed each signing, all in the same blue ink. Cas peered at it, all squinty and serious and Dean fought down a hysterical laugh. The most interesting thing about all of this was a frigging ink splatter on some fifty year old papers? Right.

“A spell.” Cas said finally. “A concealment.”

“Yep.” Gabriel nodded. “Very tidy little thing. Can you read it?”

“Only the top few skins.” Cas admitted, handing it carefully back to Sam. “Enough to know it isn’t to be played with.”

“Why not?” Asked Dean.

Cas tilted his head, considering. “It’s layered, folded over on itself dozens of times.” he explained. “With spells like this the important information is concealed in the center, wrapped in misdirections, lies written to camouflage the actual knowledge. And in between each sheaf is a protection spell, a sort of trip wire.”

Gabriel sighed. “It basically says in giant neon letters ‘don’t touch’. The wrong person tries to break this spell and,” she made a fist and then released it, wiggling her fingers violently, “this whole place goes up. Nifty, hu?” Dean glanced around, wondering which of the thousands of sigils imbedded in the walls were connected to that innocuous smudge. Which of those were tiny little incendiaries, ready to rain destruction from the ceiling as soon as the wrong person messed with the concealment spell.

“We’re thinking this place is a sort of way-station.” Sam said, and something was off in this face. Dean stared at him, searching. “A shelter for the same community of people. And Albertus Magnus is some sort of signal between them. A codeword. For anyone who knows how to break it this spell probably has more detailed, sensitive information.” Dean frowned. Secret magical clubhouse crawling with crazy spell-work and cryptic clues as to what it all means? Sam should have been actually physically drooling over this. Instead he just looked mildly interested, like someone had told him it might hail later.

“Witches?” Dean asked. Even as he said it he knew that wasn’t right. He didn’t want to meet the witches that could put that look on Cas’s face; half impressed, half concerned.

“No.” Gabriel confirmed. “No way any witch would know even half these symbols. And it would have to be a pretty stupid witch that tried to wield them.”

“Hunters?” Castiel asked, looking skeptical. Dean was mildly offended that “too stupid for witches” led his friend straight to hunters but… he had a point.

“If so they certainly weren’t any kind we’ve ever met.” Sam shrugged, looking at Dean. “I’ve never known hunters to be organized into any kind of coherent community. They’re distrustful and damaged by default, pretty much.”

Dean thought for a second of their grandfather Samuel, staring at him over Deanna’s home-cooked dinner trying to decide whether to pass the gravy or whip out a machete and take Dean’s head off. He nodded in silent agreement.

“And watch this.” Sam said, stepping over to the bookshelves. He reached his hand out, slowly and gently, towards a mouldering old clothbound book wider than Dean’s fist. When his hand was an inch away it stopped, his fingers crumpling and folding down as if they’d hit a wall. He set his palm flat against the invisible barrier and pushed, but it didn’t move.

“A shield spell.” Gabriel explained. “Can’t access any of the information stored here if you don’t have the club card.”

“The papers were in here,” Sam gestured to the open desk drawer, “And they’re the only thing in this whole place that’s accessible.”

“So a clue. For whoever knows how to read them.” Dean guessed. Sam nodded. “And you think it opens all this?”

“That’s our guess.” Sam shrugged.

“So we’ve got a couple options here.” Gabriel explained, producing a bag of skittles from somewhere about her person. She ripped it open, popped a handful into her mouth and squelched them noisily between her teeth. “Option one,” she smacked, flashing her multicolored teeth at Dean, “we take a couple months and figure out how to peel that little bastard apart layer by layer and hope we don’t blow ourselves up in the process.” She motioned to the paper and the little spell.

“Months?” Dean repeated, staring at Sam. “Just how long are you planning on staying here?”

“Option two,” Gabriel bulldozed on, but Dean caught the vacant look in Sam’s face. Not a scrap of shame. No hint of remorse for hiding himself away and letting Dean think he was in the goddamn cage. “Option two is we do a little test.”

“Test?” Castiel asked. He didn’t sound like he liked that word coming from Gabriel. He stepped closer to Dean, instinctively shielding him from whatever his little twit of a big brother was planning.

“Well, I’ve got a theory.” Gabriel said, smiling a sneaky smile that Dean didn’t trust for one third of a second.

“On how to break the spell?” Cas pressed, sounding flat-out suspicious now.

“On _who_ to break the spell.” Gabriel corrected primly, squashing another handful of candies in her cheek. She raised her eyebrows at Dean expectantly.

“Me?” Dean scoffed. “I’m not a damn witch. And I’m sure as shit not Prince Charming.”

Gabriel snorted. “No doi.” She drawled with an extravagant eye-roll. “And clearly not much of a thinker. It’s your name plastered on every surface of this place. There’s got to be a reason for that.”

“Yeah,” Dean growled, “and what if that reason is I’m the only one who can blow up everything in this place?” It would certainly make way more sense if he was destruction incarnate and not some magical key. That sort of fit with his life so far…

Cas decided it was time to pipe up, his face considering. “There may be something in this.” He said. Dean scowled at him. Fucking traitor.

“Cas, I’m not gonna just-“ He was too distracted to notice Sam moving until he had hold of Dean’s wrist. Quick as a blink he pressed Dean’s finger to one of the little smudges and Dean felt every joint in his body lock up at once. It was like being electrocuted, stuck in one rigid position as the damage was done. There was a sound like the tolling of an enormous bell, the whole place giving a violent, lurching shiver. He stumbled, would have fallen if Cas hadn’t been there to catch him. The angel shoved him back upright, his eyes wide and lazer-focused on Dean’s face.

“What the fuck!?” Dean demanded when his jaw unlocked. He whirled on his brother, something cold and shocked in his limbs.

Sam only shrugged, ignoring Dean’s outraged glare in favor of the papers in his hands. “Look!” he said, waving the things. Dean was vaguely aware of a change, all the names spilling out as Albertus Magnus unwound in shimmering red swirls, but he couldn’t give one shit.

“You just… we could have died!” He said quietly, to angry to shout. Sam had risked them all. On a fucking hunch.

“But we didn’t.” Sam shrugged, not even bothering to look up. Apparently the names he’d revealed were fascinating enough for him to ignore Dean boiling in his skin beside him. Dean tore the paper from his hands. Gabriel was already up and lunging for the shelf but before she could get close Cas was on her. He snatched her by the waist, holding still and stoic as she thrashed.

“CASTIEL!” she shrieked. “Let me go, you idiot!” Cas ignored her, eyeing Dean. Dean glanced at him and Cas didn’t blink, silently nodding him on.

“What the hell, Sam?” Dean hissed at his brother. “I just got you back and the first thing you do is nearly kill us all?”

Sam had the nerve to roll his eyes. “You’d have spent forever arguing over it until we finally convinced you that this was the only way that made sense. I sped up the process.” He even reached for the papers again, like Dean should just shake it off, like it was totally normal to risk blowing a crater in the side of this hill on a goddamn theory. Dean’s knuckles connected with his cheek with a sharp crack. Dean had the satisfaction of seeing the naked shock on his brother’s face as he tumbled back, sprawling across the desk.

“Cas?” Dean snapped, shaking out his hand.

“Yes?”

“Get us to Bobby’s.”

“Of course.” The angel nodded. Dean dragged Sam up by the collar and snatched Cas’s elbow with the other hand. In a bone-jarring instant they were standing on Bobby’s porch in front of a startled Ben.

“Woah.” The kid breathed, stuck in an odd half-standing position where he’d tried to leap to his feet. A battered sandman comic fluttered to the porch boards.

“Where’s Bobby?” Dean demanded, too pissed to keep from snapping at the kid. Ben didn’t seem to mind.

“BOBBY!!” Hollered Ben, scooting back and disappearing through the door. As it slammed behind him Dean tried to get his breathing under control, to calm the boiling rage beneath his skin.

Lisa appeared, holding her gun low with her thumb against the safety. She blinked as she caught sight of Sam but one look at Dean’s stony expression had her raising her gun. She didn’t point it at anyone, but made it clear she was ready and able to use it if necessary. A second later Bobby spilled out onto the porch too, his shotgun in one hand and a silver knife at his belt. He met Dean’s eyes first, then his gaze slid over to Sam. His expression didn’t change, but all the blood drained from his face.

“Lucifer?” he asked steadily, like he was ready to take on the devil himself if he had to, like it was just a normal Thursday afternoon activity. Lisa jumped but didn’t panic, just raised her gun a little higher.

Dean shook his head, too angry even to glare at Sam. “Got any holy oil?” he growled, staring over their heads instead. There was a flake of battered paint sort of shaped like Wisconsin near the top corner of Bobby’s door frame. Dean focused on that instead of the pain in his knuckles as he gripped Sam’s coat too tightly.

Bobby nodded, eyeing Gabriel as she squirmed and bit at Cas’s wrists like a rabid ferret.

“Would you two calm your tits?” she screeched, flailing against Cas as he easily held her in place.

“Get it to the panic room.” Dean said. Before he could blink they were standing just outside the panic-room door, Cas apparently having decided that the effort of marching their wayward brothers down the stairs was too much bother. Cas flung Gabriel in first, watching as she tumbled into a heap of skinny arms and baggy denim. Dean muscled Sam in behind, even though the taller Winchester wasn’t even resisting.

“Would you listen to me?” Gabriel shrieked, stomping her little foot. Dean slammed the heavy iron door in her face. “You can’t do this!” came her muffled scream. “I can’t be here!!”

Bobby tromped down the stairs, an earthenware jug covered in Enochian symbols under one arm. Cas stared at it, his shoulders tensing just slightly but Bobby just nodded at him. He went to the side of the door, popping a small cap on an iron tube inscribed with wards.

“One way valve.” He explained, carefully pouring the oil in. “Warded from the other side. After Feathers told us about holy oil I installed a trough. Goes all the way around the room inside. You can light it with this.” He motioned to a button just above the tube. Cas raised his eyebrows and Bobby carefully poured the holy oil in, not even a drop spilling.

“What if they block the trough?” Cas asked.

“Not possible.” Bobby explained. “Contained in high temp glass ceramic and vented into the warded systems. The shut-off switch here cuts off the vents and smothers it. Can’t smash the glass cause it’s enspelled and laced with silver.”

“Ingenius.” Cas murmured.

When the jug was empty Bobby stepped back, banging on the door with one fist. “Better not be standing on that glass track in three… two… one!” he punched the button and Gabriel’s screams went a few tones higher.

“NO!” she wailed. “I can’t be in here!”

“Can it, kid.” Bobby told her.

“You don’t understand!” she insisted, tears in her voice. “I can’t be in here!”

“Deal with it.” Dean growled, and marched out of the basement.


	16. Not For Long

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Sadness Don’t Own Me - the Staves
> 
> “Man am I terrified,  
> 'least I can say that I tried,  
> Man am I burning alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for any typos or mistakes. My work is all unbeta'd and I'm crap at editing. Enjoy! Comments appreciated!

Gabriel screamed for hours.

When they emerged from the basement, Dean’s heart in his throat, Lisa and Ben had been waiting.

“Is it him?” Lisa had asked, slowly relaxing her gun arm. “Is it Sam?”

“No.” Dean had grunted, the last shred of hope he hadn’t even known he was still clinging to slipping between his fingers. His eyes stung, he couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t Sam. That thing down in the basement… it wasn’t his brother. He’d stumbled out onto the porch, sitting against the wall of the house with his head in his hands while Cas filled the others in. He needed to think.

No one followed him, either too scared of the look on his face or too busy figuring out what the hell was going on. Dean didn’t really care. Night settled in and it started to rain. Was it the same rain he’d been standing in before? Back in the woods? It drummed on the porch roof as Dean tried to piece himself back together. Had it really been only a few hours ago that he’s been so desperate for something to do? He’d been so sure, so goddamn sure that it was Sam out there, waiting for him. That somehow, finally, something good had happened. Maybe it was Gabriel’s blessing buzzing in his brain that had let him believe something so stupid, that Sam had managed to claw his way back. But the blessing was gone and that wasn’t Sam.

It was more than just the dead-eyed stare, the complete lack of warmth in his face. How many times had Sam preached caution? How many times had he told Dean to think things through before barrelling in like an idiot and destroying everything. Sam was the patient one. Sam was the brains of the operation, but he was also the heart. If he could casually dismiss killing himself, killing Cas, ending them all on a fucking hunch… then Cas had been right. That wasn’t Sam. It was just a shell. Empty.

Even out here Dean could hear Gabriel shrieking bloody murder. She’d stopped using actual words a long time ago. A pair of boots appeared next to him and Dean wondered when the door had opened. Bobby stood there, his hands shoved awkwardly in his pockets as he rocked back and forth. Dean didn’t look up. He knew what he would see in Bobby’s face, grief and sorrow that he wouldn’t be able to stand.

“Better come on inside, boy.” Bobby growled, scratching at his beard. “Gotta figure out what the play is here.” Dean nodded and dragged himself to his feet. Had to keep going. Just like always. Sam was still gone, but that didn’t mean Dean could stop. Not for longer than it took to swallow down the hurt.

He followed Bobby back inside, catching the smell of pasta sauce from the kitchen. They’d eaten without him, apparently. He found he didn’t care. Cas was staring at him, Dean could feel it on the back of his head as he strode across the living room. He hunched his shoulders and marched into the kitchen, ripping open the fridge door and grabbing a beer. He didn’t bother to offer anything to anyone, just whacked the top against the counter to pop the cap and tilted it back. In four long swallows he’d drained the whole thing and bent to take another.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Ben staring at him, eyes wide and frightened. Shit. He didn’t do the drinking thing in front of Ben, no more than a glass of whiskey at dinner or a beer here and there. Barbecues, football nights… like any other normal suburban house husband. Cause that’s what he was supposed to be now. That’s who he was for Sam, wherever the real Sam was. And Ben and Lisa. Goddamn had he dragged them from their safe, comfortable home for this shit?

Lisa stepped up behind her son, steering him away with a gentle glance for Dean. There was no judgement in her face but Dean felt the sting of her gaze anyway. He closed the fridge and stepped back, popping the second cap with his ring. Cas was still watching him, a flicker of pain in his face.

“So what’s our move?” Bobby asked, creaking down into a rickety kitchen chair.

“I believe we should find out more about the place we found Gabriel and Sam.” Cas said, looking to Dean. Dean nodded.

“Makes sense.” He grunted.

“These appear to be records of who used the building most recently.” Cas said, drawing the paper Sam had had from the pocket of his coat and handing them to Bobby. The stupid scrap of paper he’d nearly killed them all for. Dean’s hand clenched around the bottle.

“Ain’t heard of hunters smart enough for any of that.” Bobby growled, leaning closer to the nearest lamp and peering at the list of names. “More likely to be some sort of creature, don’t you think? Angels or demons? Or at least something that knows a hell of a lot about you all?”

Cas tilted his lips at the old hunter. “I think you might be underestimating your compatriots, Bobby. In many ways the place we found reminds me of the room now housing what’s left of our brothers.” He swung a hand at Dean.

“That’s not Sam.” Croaked Dean. “Sam would never have been that fucking callous.” Ben jumped at the swear and Dean flinched.

“Well, if his soul is really missing, it would make sense.” Lisa offered.

Cas nodded. “It would explain why he is so different.” He stared at the floor as if he could see through the boards and protections down into the panic room. Maybe he could.

“But you lost your grace that time and you didn’t turn into a sociopath on the spot.” Dean reminded him. Cas had been pretty much the same as a human, maybe a little surlier, a little more distractible. But he hadn’t gone off the deep end just because he lost his mojo. He hadn’t turned into a total dick.

Cas was shaking his head. “Grace is not a soul.” He said. “If anything grace hinders emotional attachment, makes us feel less, or at least, differently from humans. But a soul is visceral, raw. A human soul is so much more powerful. It’s comparing a house cat to a tiger.”

Bobby scoffed. “If you’re a house cat we must be amoebas on a cockroach’s ass.”

Cas shook his head more vehemently. “I’m telling you, a soul has a thousand times the power of an angel’s grace, and it is connected differently to its owner. Removing it removes so much more of the being’s self. If his soul were still trapped in the cage then Sam could very well be that stranger in the basement.”

“Well whether that’s Sam or not, we got a solid lead with this list and I think we’d better start running some of these names down. Unless you got some way of proving that’s him?” Bobby twitched his cap at Cas, who shook his head. “Then that’s where we start. Dean? I got a laptop under those books there.” He waved to a stack of almanacs balanced precariously on the edge of the counter near the toaster. “Fire ‘er up and get to searching town records in… where’d you say this place was?”

“Outside Carthage, Indiana.” Cas supplied.

“Carthage, Indiana. See if any of these people owned land thereabouts. If that don’t hit try voter registries.” Bobby instructed, snagging a piece of scrap paper and handing it to Cas. “And you and I are gonna work on that symbol. What did it look like exactly?”

Cas sketched it out in one swift stroke.

“Hmm. Definitely seen it before.” Bobby said. “In fact I’m pretty sure I used it to prep that old barn before we knew what the hell a ‘Castiel’ was.”

Castiel smirked. “It is a unicursal hexagram. It’s used in many more complicated designs, a glyph of protection which you overlay with more intricate symbols. I believe it was configured to keep the barn where we met in one piece when a powerful being was summoned inside.”

Bobby shrugged. “Sounds about right. Got any other meanings you know of?”

“It has been used in many ways throughout history. The free masons use a similar sign and there are whole branches of mathematics centered around it.”

“A coven of nerd illuminati witches?” Dean snorted. The way Castiel glanced at him told Dean the angel didn’t believe his shot at levity.

“What can we do?” Ben asked. Dean jumped. He’d almost forgotten the kid and Lisa were in the room.

“I brought my ipad.” Lisa offered, gesturing to the living room.

Dean was about to tell them not to bother, that he, Bobby and Cas could handle it, when Bobby cut in.

“Good. You find all the info you can on ‘Albertus Magnus’. We want to know if it’s a password, a person, or something else altogether.” He went to his desk and yanked a legal pad out from under a stack of worn books. “Here kid.” He tossed it to Ben. “Your job is to take the minutes. Anyone gets anything they think is important tell Ben here to write it down. Got it?” If his brother weren’t standing soulless in the basement Dean might have grinned. He recognized Bobby’s patented ‘keep the damn boy out of my hair’ routine and knew from experience how well it worked.

“Well, let’s get cracking.” Dean grumbled, folding his legs beneath him to settle on the floor.

For the next hour or so everything was quiet except the subtle tapping of Dean’s keyboard and the occasional swish of a turned page. Ben sat bolt upright between Dean and Lisa, his pen poised over his notepad and his eyes bright. Whenever anyone had a tidbit for him he’d scribble furiously for a few seconds before returning to the ready position.

Gabriel screamed the whole time. Dean, Bobby and Castiel, all used to the screams and swear-laden rants of trapped demons, barely noticed. But Lisa flinched a lot.

Dean bumped her elbow as she winced at one particularly blood-curdling howl. “She’s not really a little girl, you know.” He murmured.

Lisa nodded. “I know. But she looks like one. She sounds like one.”

“But she isn’t.” Dean repeated, firm. “She’s billions of years old, and one of the most devious bastards I’ve ever run up against. She’s trying to get one of us to feel sorry for her. She saw you, she saw Ben. She’s probably hoping to appeal to a mother’s heart or some shit. You gotta ignore her.”

Lisa gave him a watery smile. “I know.” She repeated, and there was steel in her eyes. “Who’d have thought you’d be jumpier about an angel in the basement than the King of Hell standing in your kitchen?”

Dean’s lopsided smile was a brittle thing. Gabriel screamed.

“Let’s get back to work.” Lisa sighed, tapping at her screen.

“Boy!” Bobby growled and Ben leapt to his feet.

“Got something?” he asked, scurrying over with his notepad ready.

“Maybe.” Bobby nodded and lifted his book from the table, tracing a line with one calloused finger. “‘The cult of Molech found purchase in the wake of the consolidation of kingdoms. As Imhotep bent Djoser’s ear, singing to him promises of unparalleled power, kings were brought low and their lands stolen. Those who had been born royalty were now only governors, cheated of their birthrights as their kingdoms transformed to fiefdom-like nomes.’” Bobby paused, glancing at Castiel.

“Molech was one of the more disgusting pagans.” He said, his face pinching in distaste. “Children being burned alive featured highly on his list of favored sacrifices.”

Ben’s eyes popped but he continued to write, carefully leaning over Bobby’s shoulder to make sure he spelled the pagan god’s name correctly.

“And his symbol was a lopsided hexagram.” Bobby said.

Cas squinted. “I don’t recall. His symbols were burned from the temples, eradicated from the host’s memory as punishment when he was imprisoned in the eighth circle of Hell. He was to be wiped from the earth entirely.”

“But humans like to write shit down.” Bobby said, pointing to the next paragraph. “‘Betrayed by the gods they had followed for generations, who now smiled upon the great Pharaoh, these disgraced kings turned to the dark god Molech to sooth their injured pride and stoke their vengeful hatred.’”

“Could be a solid lead.” Dean nodded.

“Could be.” Bobby sighed. “But there are hundreds of different kinds of hexagrams, maybe thousands. No guarantee that this one has anything to do with him.”

“Wouldn’t it be unlikely for a protection sign to be part of a dark god’s emblem?” Lisa asked, frowning. Dean glanced at her, surprised. He didn’t know why he should be, really. She was a damn smart lady.

Castiel tilted his head. “Not necessarily. Sometimes the perversion of a pure sigil can be far more evil than the creation of a dark one.” Lisa nodded. It made a certain sense.

“Ben, you see that bookshelf in the living room?” Bobby asked, pointing through the doorway. Ben nodded eagerly. “Should be a few books on Egyptian gods. Bring ‘em in here, would ya?” Ben scampered away, diving to his knees to search the dusty spines. Bobby watched him with a tiny smile, his eyes flashing to Dean. Dean couldn’t smile back. Ben’s enthusiasm for ragged old books reminded him too much of Sam. Bobby saw the pain in his face, and chewed on his cheek. He heaved a sigh as the kid came in with a stack of books under one arm. Dean turned back to the laptop and they all fell back into silence.

They found a few more possible leads for the mark, most of them having to do with Hell and demons, and Dean was making good progress through the list of names. A couple stood out, repeated so many times that they were definitely worth focusing on, and he found a few tax records with old addresses. Just as Dean’s back demanded that he stand and stretch, throwing his arms over his head with a groan, Cas’s head snapped up.

“Someone’s here.” He said.

He stood, sending his chair slamming into the wall. For the second time that day the room rippled around them, nearly knocking Dean on his ass. Cas’s blade dropped from his sleeve an instant before he disappeared, leaving them all gaping at one another and bracing against whatever was closest.

“An earthquake?” Lisa gasped, pulling Ben to her stomach and curling against the doorframe.

Bobby frowned at Dean and picked up his gun. “Damn convenient timing if it is.” He growled. Dean unclipped the strap holding the demon knife in its sheath. Just in case.

The floor pitched beneath them again. Dean actually saw the boards swell and buckle like a choppy oaken sea. Before he could catch his balance Cas blinked back in, clutching someone’s arm.

He was skinny, his cheekbones thrust out and pulling his sallow skin tight. Old, too, maybe sixty-five and completely bald. He didn’t even have eyebrows. Dressed in shabby clothes and struggling to breathe he hung limply in Cas’s grasp.

“He was standing at the edge of the property.” Cas explained calmly.

“You doing this?” demanded Dean. Cas had stashed his blade, so this guy probably wasn’t much of a threat, but Dean kept his fist clenched around the hilt of the knife.

“Speak.” Cas commanded, giving the stranger a little shake.

“M-my name is Bill Higgins.” The stranger wheezed. “I- I came from Sioux City.”

“Iowa? Why?” Dean asked.

Bill’s eyes were strangely unfocused beneath his nonexistent eyebrows. “I have to get to her.”

“Her?” Bobby repeated. “Who’s ‘her’?”

Bill stared at him helplessly. “She needs me.” His watery eyes drifted to the basement door. “I know she’s here. I can feel it. I drove all afternoon.” He rubbed his palm against his skinny chest, soothing some phantom ache. “I have to… before it’s too late.”

The house shuddered again, the window above the sink shattering inward in a spray of glass.

“Cas, what the hell is happening?” Dean cried, diving over to shield Lisa and Ben.

“I believe,” Cas said, cool as a cucumber, “we may be looking at number eighty-four.”

Oh. Gabriel’s eighty-fourth vessel. Another scrap of grace finding its way back to her.

“So it is him doing this?” Another lurch sent Dean stumbling into the counter.

Cas shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Please let me get to her. She’s in pain. Such pain!” whined Bill, reaching out as far as Cas’s grip would let him. “The fire.”

The floor bucked up and a tearing screech echoed through the house. Cas towed Billy to the stairs and marched him down, Bobby and Dean spilling down behind them. Before they even got close to the door they could hear Gabriel shrieking like she was being peeled.

“It’s burning her!” wailed Billy, nearly collapsed against Cas’s trench coat.

“I believe the holy fire might be too much for Gabriel in her current state.” Cas suggested, his forehead pinched in worry. “She is unintentionally warping reality.”

“Well kill it then!” Bobby shouted, bouncing against the railing as another wave hit. “Get her out of there!” he lunged forward and hit the kill switch. Immediately the house stilled, Gabriel’s screams subsiding to pained sobs. “Should take about twenty seconds for it to die completely.” Bobby told them. “Then we can get her out of there.”

“You can’t just let her out!” Dean cried. Were they both insane? They’d thrown her in there because they needed to figure out what those two had planned and how to stop it.

“I don’t believe we have much choice.” Cas argued. “She already told us she’s extremely unstable and if such a short and controlled exposure to holy fire can cause this reaction-“

“She’s tricking us!” Dean insisted. “She’s the goddamn Trickster!”

Cas frowned at him. “Dean, if any of this were intentional it would not be able to break through that room. The fact that she can affect us even outside of all those protections means she’s minutes away from collapsing in on herself.”

“What happens when an angel collapses in on itself?” Bobby asked.

Cas glanced at him. “It is very much like when a star dies.” He said.

“So, a black hole, then?” Bobby asked.

“Approximately.” Cas agreed. Well, shit. “The effect is a bit more sudden.”

“More sudden?” Dean repeated. “Black holes take, like, thousands of years to form, right? Hundreds of thousands? So what are we talking here, minutes?”

“Nanoseconds.” Cas told him.

“Well, that settles it for me, kid,” Bobby said to Dean. “I am not about to have a black hole in my damn basement.”

“It would only be in your basement for a fraction of a fraction of a nanosecond.” Cas explained helpfully. “Then it would consume most of the solar system.”

“I like the solar system just how it is, thanks.” Bobby snorted. He unlocked the door and swung it open, revealing the not-Sam kneeling near the cot that stood in the middle of the panic room, Gabriel curled in a ball on the concrete floor by his knees.

She looked like hell. A small trickle of blood slid from her nose to her lips and she was white as a sheet. Her skinny arms were covered in scrapes and she was shaking uncontrollably. Her knees rattled against the floor with every shudder, spreading fresh bruises. For a second Dean forgot he was looking at a millennia-old archangel and just saw a small, terrified girl who looked like she’d been hit by a truck.

A garbled moan slid through Bill’s teeth as he tore free of Cas’s grasp and stumbled into the room. Cas must have let the guy go, and the angel watched silently as the frail man gathered the girl up in his arms. She clung to him, her fingers digging deep into the frayed fabric of his sweatshirt. They didn’t speak, just rocked together in eery silence. Sam stood off to one side, just watching.

“I’m sorry.” Gabriel croaked into his shoulder, her voice ragged from screaming. There was blood between all her teeth. “I wanted to give you longer.”

“It’s ok.” Bill whispered, kissing her forehead. “It’s ok now.”

She raised her hands to his face, cradling his sunken cheeks in her tiny palms. Something was happening, Dean could feel it. It was like goosebumps, or an itch buried deep under his skin. A static charge in the air. Slowly, Gabriel looked up at her eighty-forth vessel and he looked down at her.

“Sorry, Bill.” She wept, placing a hand on his forehead.

He said nothing, just smiled down at her.

“Dean!” Cas grabbed at Bobby’s shoulder, turning the old hunter around. “Cover your eyes!”

Dean did, a brilliant silver flash nearly blinding him through his eyelids as a strident chime split the air. It was like a thousand forks scraping against china plates, a hundred cats screaming in heat. He clamped his hands over his ears but too late.

Then it was over, the light dying and leaving Dean blinking away sunspots. He brought his hands down and his palms felt wet. His vision cleared and he saw it was blood. Not-Sam was standing there, staring back at him with blood seeping out between his fingers where his hands were still pressed to his ears. Bobby was leaning heavily on Cas, blood leaking from his ears and nose but his eyes still bright in their sockets. At least no one had been permanently blinded, Dean guessed. Cas was staring, his eyes wide with awe, at Gabriel, crouched in the center of the room. She cradled Bill in her tiny arms, his face pressed into her scrawny chest. Even without seeing his face Dean knew, could tell by the dreadful stillness in his limbs.

Bill was dead.


	17. I Found A Way To Reappear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening: I Found a Way - First Aid Kit
> 
> “I need your condolence and your trust  
> But I won’t ask, won’t ask for much.  
> I’ll only ask for so much.”

Sam was the first to break the silence. He stepped forward, coming to stand a few inches from Bill’s lifeless hand where it flopped on the concrete. From the angle Dean couldn’t see his brother’s face, but he had a full view of Gabriel’s when she looked up. Her hair had come loose from her braid and made a frizzy, greasy halo around her head. Tears still streaked her cheeks but the wildness was gone, the pain dampened. Instead she looked glassy-eyed and vacant, blinking up at Sam.

“Come on.” He said, his voice so gentle a little pinprick of pain poked through Dean’s chest. It wasn’t Sammy, but it sure as hell sounded like him.

Gabriel let herself be guided, let Sam pull her tiny hands away from where they clutched at Bill’s sweatshirt. Sam laid the dead man’s head gently on the floor, making sure Gabriel watched him cross Bill’s arms over his skinny chest. She stood staring, the only movement a little lock of hair that floated off her cheek with every breath.

“Come on.” Sam repeated, holding out his arms. Gabriel shuffled into them, curling up against his chest like an infant. As she pushed her face into his neck Sam stood and lifted her onto his hip. He stroked her hair with one big hand, shoving the pin deeper between Dean’s ribs.

“Cas,” Sam said, his tone pleading but his eyes dead. “She needs to get out of here.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You’ve seen this before?”

Sam nodded. “She kind of tunes out for a few minutes afterwards. When she comes back she’s stronger, more herself.”

“Maybe we can get some answers, then.” Bobby grunted. “Like what the hell that was.” He motioned to Bill’s sightless stare.

Sam shrugged. “But it takes a while. And she’s unstable while she reintegrates. I think it’s probably a good idea to get her out of here. Away from the body.”

“Why?” Dean demanded. He didn’t trust this Not-Sam any further than he could drag the bastard by his stupid floppy hair.

Before Sam could provide an answer a rushing whumph! sucked all the air out of the panic room. Dean jumped back from the vicious silver flames that shot up from Bill’s body, blackening his skin almost instantly. It looked a bit like angel grace, but off somehow, not quite the blazing glory that could burn eyes from sockets, but more a hazy silver mist. Gabriel let out a pitiful little wail and Sam cradled her closer.

“That.” He said. “Among other things.”

“And you conveniently come out with her?” Dean asked, peering at Sam.

Sam cocked a half-smile at him. “Or you can take her. Human touch seems to calm her down, help her reorient. She said it would work faster with someone who had a soul.”

Dean winced and backed away. “No freaking way. Give her to Cas.”

“I’m afraid that would be a very bad idea, Dean.” Cas said, his eyes locked on the back of Gabriel’s head. “If contact with holy fire can cause that kind of instability I don’t know what my grace might do to her. I think I should probably avoid touching her at the very least.”

Sam nodded, like he knew freaking anything about grace and how it worked. Bobby rolled his eyes and stepped forward, holding out his arms for the girl. Sam transferred her over readily enough, watching her skinny legs hitch over the old hunter’s hip and her arms wind around his neck.

“This clearly ain’t no place for her.” Bobby grumped, his face like a thunderstorm. If he was at all uncomfortable getting angel snot down the side of his neck he didn’t show it as he carried her towards the door. “If she can tear down the world without even trying in here then it’s pretty pointless to worry about what she might do upstairs.”

“And him?” Dean asked, hitching his thumb at Sam.

“Don’t know about him, yet.” Bobby admitted. “But with Feathers around he’s probably not going far. Am I right?”

Cas looked Sam over once more, considering. “I doubt I could not destroy him if necessary.” He said, sending a little fizz of panic through Dean’s brain. NOT Sam, he reminded himself.

“I’m the one who’s been trying to find you, remember.” Sam said cheerfully, unfazed by the threat of angelic dismemberment.

“Don’t see a way around it.” Bobby said, heading for the stairs. “Unless you wanna sit on the concrete and bitch about it a while.”

Dean glanced at Cas, who shrugged.

“Fine.” Dean conceded, pointing an accusing finger at Not-Sam. “But you try any shit-“

“And I’ll get an angel blade between my eyes.” Sam finished for him. “I’m guessing you’re packing Gabriel’s?”

Dean ground his teeth and refused to answer, just shoving the gangly freak ahead of him towards the door. Cas followed, reaching out to brush his fingers against Dean’s elbow. Dean glanced at him and found Cas’s face full of sympathy and question. Dean shook his head and held back a sigh. He’d be fine. He could deal. He’d dealt with someone else looking out from behind Sam’s eyes before. As long as it wasn’t Lucifer again Dean could frigging deal.

Lisa was waiting at the top of the stairs, her arms crossed nervously over her stomach. Ben was peering around the corner from the living room, eyes wide as Sam emerged.

“Everything ok?” she asked, rubbing her elbows. “Where’s Bill?”

Bobby shook his head. Lisa winced as Gabriel sniffled, her hands making an aborted move to stroke the child’s back. She stopped herself, glancing at Dean sheepishly.

“Dead.” Bobby coughed, leading them through to the living room. Ben was perched on the couch, still holding his notepad like a lifeline. His eyes looked about ready to fall out of his head as Lisa sat down beside him and looped her arm around his shoulders and held him close.

“How?” Lisa asked, her eyes still glued to the little girl in Bobby’s arms.

“She killed him.” Dean spat, pointing.

“I didn’t!” Gabriel hiccoughed, slanting her head to glare at him out of one eye.

“Oh, you’re back now?” Dean snarked.

Gabriel leaned away from Bobby, reaching pleadingly out to Lisa like an infant. Before Dean could stop her Lisa had reached back, collecting the girl into her arms and stroking her hair. Bobby just let her go, cracking his back with a grunt. Gabriel sighed deeply and pulled her knees up so her feet rested on Lisa’s thigh.

“Hey-“ Dean started, taking a step towards them. He wasn’t sure what he planned to do exactly, maybe rip the little shit out of Lisa’s arms, but Cas’s hand on his elbow pulled him up short.

“Leave it.” He said quietly.

“But-“

“Dean.” Cas said, his voice irritatingly level. “Have you ever known Gabriel to harm the innocent?”

Dean scoffed, though he knew Cas had a point. Despite his bloodthirsty tendencies, Gabriel had always possessed a weird kind of twisted honor code. He doubted Lisa was in much danger. “How do we even know that’s him?” Dean challenged, scowling at the skinny waif. “I mean for sure?”

Cas huffed through his nose. “You do recall the burn of angel grace?” he asked, glancing at the stairs to the basement. “That was definitely an archangel. The other three are all accounted for, as you well know. It’s really him, Dean.” Cas’s expression said that line of reasoning was dead but Dean wasn’t about to let this go.

“And she still just killed a guy.” He said again. “So why are we cuddling the bastard?”

“I didn’t kill him!” Gabriel choked, fresh tears spilling.

“Save the crocodile tears.” Dean snarled. “You touched him, he died. You explain to me how that’s not killing him.”

“My grace was the only thing keeping him alive, you dickbag.” She snapped, making Ben jump. She turned to face Dean fully, her ruddy face set in anger. “If I hadn’t taken him as a vessel he’d have died months ago.”

“So you healed him just enough to live until you needed him again.” Dean drawled. “Fucking miracle worker, hu?”

“Shut your mouth!” she hissed, and the room shivered around them. Dean gripped the doorframe, steadying himself against another roll but it didn’t come. Lisa shushed her, pressing her palm into the girl’s cheek and kissing her forehead like she was just a kid with a scraped knee. Gabriel let out a soft little whine and leaned into it.

“Lisa.” Sam greeted, his face impassive. She looked him over, rubbing her hand vaguely up Gabriel’s spine.

“Sam.” She said. “You remember Ben?”

Sam nodded, not smiling at the kid where he shuffled closer to his mother. “Dean moved you guys here when they realized I knew where you lived, hm?”

Lisa frowned but nodded back. “They weren’t sure what you were. Showing up at Ben’s game made it pretty clear you might be targeting us to get to him.”

Dean waited to see if he would have the decency to look ashamed of himself for scaring the crap out of a civilian and a little kid, but Sam just nodded.

“I figured it would get his attention.” He agreed.

A loud crack made everyone jump and pain flare across Dean’s knuckles. He looked over to find his fist dripping blood down the molding, little stress fractures in the dusty paint. He’d punched the doorframe in fury.

With a sigh Cas stepped up and healed him, sparing him an exasperated glare. Gabriel shuddered and curled into Lisa’s chest.

“Watch that.” Sam advised, motioning to the fingers Cas still held near Dean’s temple and jerking his head toward Gabriel. “Grace.”

“Of course.” Cas agreed, his teeth clicking together in embarrassment.

“I didn’t kill him.” Gabriel said again, wiping her snotty nose on her wrist. Lisa made a tsking sort of sound and shooed Ben with one hand.

“Grab a napkin from the kitchen, hon.” She said. Ben scrambled to comply. When he returned Lisa held the napkin up for Gabriel to blow into, pinching her nose as she blasted like a trumpet. It was one of the most ridiculous things Dean had ever seen.

“Adenocarcinoma.” Gabriel croaked, leaning her head against Lisa’s cheek. “Bill had it in his lungs. My grace was the only thing keeping him alive.”

“So you kept him alive while it was convenient.” Dean snorted. “Couldn’t be bothered to actually heal him? That would have taken, what? Half a second for you?”

“No.” She shook her head, too tired to be angry anymore. “I didn’t know. I only met him for a few minutes. I was a little preoccupied at the time trying to stop Lucifer so I didn’t pay much attention. Bill didn’t take much convincing.”

“Convincing?” Lisa repeated, swaying gently like it was an actual kid in her arms.

“It’s usually a negotiation. ’Do this for me and I can be a vessel’.” Cas was nodding along as Gabriel stared at his tie. “Most of them wanted cars and houses and money and shit. Bill wanted lungs.”

“That seems reasonable.” Lisa nodded, sympathy written all over her face.

“Not for himself.” Gabriel explained, fresh tears spilling off her chin to patter against Lisa’s collarbone. “For Amy.”

“Who’s Amy?” Lisa asked.

“Just some kid. He’d only just met her. At the hospital, but I didn’t know that. I didn’t ask. She came in when he was in for treatment. She was alone. Just her new foster mom with her. He knew what she was about to go through. He knew how it felt. He wanted me to fix her.”

“Did you?” Cas asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Gabriel nodded. “Yeah. She skipped out of that chemo bay.”

“So how do you know this?” Sam asked curiously. “If he didn’t tell you when he agreed…”

“I know.” Gabriel said, tapping her little knuckles against her sternum. “The piece that was with him knew him. And now it’s back with me. If I’d known…”

Dean tried to find something to be angry at in Gabriel’s confession but came up short. It was hard to doubt the heartbreak in her voice.

“You said you wanted to give him more time.” Bobby murmured, watching Gabriel intently.

“That was the piece of me in him talking. It was already coming back to me, had been. That’s what drew him here. It didn’t want to leave him.” Her face broke, crumpling into a teary mess as she it turned back into Lisa’s neck. “I didn’t want to leave him.” They all just stood there listening to her heartbroken little whimpers for a while.

“Are you safe here?” Cas asked finally, motioning to encompass the whole house.

“Not as safe as I was at the outpost.” Gabriel said.

“The outpost?” Sam repeated sharply.

“That place.” Gabriel said, not perking up in the slightest. “It’s an outpost. Part of a larger network.”

“Of hunters?” Bobby pressed.

Gabriel sighed, shrugging. “I don’t remember.” She said. “But there are more. Lots more.”

“You’ve got nothing more than that?”

“He’s still alive.” Gabriel told them. “It’s just him now.”

“Who?” Lisa asked.

Gabriel shrugged again. “I dunno. But he’s alive. He’ll be able to tell you more.”

“Oh, thanks.” Dean grumbled. “Super helpful.”

“Dean.” Lisa admonished.

“You got anything else we can use?” Dean pushed, anger and helplessness and that horrible weight that came with watching someone die and not being able to do a god damn thing about it making him cruel. “Like name? A location? A goddamn species?”

Gabriel just shook her head.

“Great. Fucking great.” Dean hissed, tugging at his short hair in frustration. “So we know that someone knows something about something somewhere. You’re a real fucking godsend, Gabriel.”

“Shut up.” Gabriel whined, but Dean’s sympathy for her had abruptly run dry.

“No, that’s awesome. You got any other gems? Wanna give me my horoscope while your spouting vague bullshit?”

“Dean,” Cas murmured, his eyes wide on Gabriel.

“I died for you, Dickhead!” Gabriel snarled, clutching a hank of Lisa’s hair in her fist. “I think you could show me a little gratitude.”

“Yeah?” Dean scoffed. “And you killed me about two hundred times. You put Sam through that looping hell for like a year. And now we’re just supposed to take your word that something somewhere might help us figure out how to make Sam a real boy again without restarting the Apocalypse. I’ll wait until the scoreboard’s a little more even to trust your slippery ass, thanks.”

Dean was almost sure Gabriel’s eyes flashed with actual light.

“Dean-“ Cas warned again, moving up behind his shoulder.

“I don’t think you get it, Winchester.” Gabriel’s voice was ice. “Sure, I left a scrap of your brother back in the Pit, but human souls are damn near indestructible. They can bend and twist and splinter, but they survive. That’s the whole point of them. It’s not the same for us.” No mistaking it, there was grace burning behind her eyes. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood up. A charge crackled in the air around him. The illusion of the little girl slipped and for a second Dean was staring at something wild and eternal.

Fuck.

“Why not?” He growled, refusing to be cowed.

Gabriel flashed a menacing grin. “When an angel dies it isn’t just a hop on the express train back to Heaven for a picnic with Daddy. No dip down south to visit Big Brother Lucy. Not even Purgatory can hold us. We are gone.” She snapped her little fingers with a sharp click. From the corner of his eye Dean saw Cas wince. “Just gone.” She spread her hand, as if letting dust escape to the breeze. “Everything I was, everything I ever had been, gone. Billions of years of being. Everything I ever could have done or seen or felt, every ounce of potential, gone. No ghost, no ashes, nothing but a winged smudge on a shitty hotel carpet. Nothing. Just a big angel-shaped hole in the universe. I don’t think you can comprehend what that means.”

Cas was actually shaking and Dean fought the urge to vomit as the room rippled around him. It felt like his skin was being sucked away from his body, a vacuum opening up as Gabriel’s glare became icier and icier.

“So don’t tell me you don’t owe me something, Dean.” She hissed.

“Gabriel.” Not-Sam said, perfectly calm as the angel’s anger threatened to warp reality. “Might be a good idea to take it down a notch.”

Gabriel’s head snapped around and for a second Dean was sure she was gonna smite someone. But then she took a breath, a hissing inhale through her sharp nose. She held it in her little chest for a moment, then blew it out. The air loosened again and Dean sucked in a breath of his own.

“That’s it, baby.” Lisa cooed softly, kissing her hair. If she’d been frightened by Gabriel’s little display she didn’t show it. “Shh.”

“You really are unstable, aren’t you?” Castiel murmured, his voice even huskier than usual. He looked about ready to collapse and Dean leaned closer to him, ready to catch him if he had to.

Gabriel sniffed. “Yeah.” She sighed, dropping her head back to Lisa’s shoulder. “Sorry ‘bout the fireworks, Dean-o. But you get my point?”

Dean set his jaw. “Whatever.” He sighed.

“You left a bit of me?” Not-Sam said, his face thoughtful. “So it was you? You brought me up?”

Gabriel blinked. “Oh.” She said, eyes wide. “I did!”

“How?” Bobby demanded in amazement. “You got a set of lock-picks for the Pit?”

“A blessing.” Gabriel explained. “I planted it in him at the Elysium, same time as Dean’s. Back-up plan.”

“A blessing strong enough to break the cage?” Cas asked, disturbed. Dean could see why that was such a terrifying thought. Michael was an angel, and so, for that matter, was Lucifer. If all it took to bust out of the cage was a blessing in the right place they could all be catastrophically screwed.

“No.” Gabriel said, cutting off that line of panic. “He never went all the way down! At least, not this part of him.” She looked the Not-Sam up and down. “Lucy must have noticed, gotten his hooks into Sam’s soul at the last second, dragged him in. Shit.”

“Yeah.” Bobby agreed, scratching at his beard. “Shit.”

“You remember that now?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.” Gabriel nodded. “I get a little clearer each time…” she shrugged and tapped her sternum again. “At least for a little while.”

“Then here.” Dean said, snatching up the list of names the spell had unravelled. “Are any of these your ‘him’?”

Gabriel squinted at the paper, rapidly scanning the names. She jabbed her finger at one name near the bottom. “Him.” She said. “If that’s not my ‘him’ he knows who he is.”

Dean turned the paper over to see the name she’d chosen. “Larry Ganem.” It appeared several times towards the end of the list, and was the very last name signed. “Well. At least that’s an actual lead.” He said.

“Got a Larry Ganem owning five acres in Dunreith, Indiana.” Bobby said, checking his notes.

Ben scurried over to the maps spread across the kitchen table. “That’s less than ten miles from Carthage!” he squeaked.

Bobby nodded at Dean, eyebrows raised. “I’d say that’s a damn good lead.”

“Better than a horoscope, at any rate.” Not-Sam agreed.

Gabriel cracked a tiny smile.


	18. Misdirection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended listening: Goat Rodeo - Yo-Yo Ma, Stuart Duncan, Edgar Meyer & Chris Thile
> 
> I have kind of run with the idea of Cas being sheriff up in Heaven with this song choice. Merry (only a little bit late) Christmas!

“What was it?” Hannah demanded, coming to land beside Castiel. Balthazar appeared milliseconds later, Samandriel wild-eyed and ruffled beside him.

_Leliel! Nakir!_ Cas sent the call out across the aether.

Gabriel’s near-disaster had been felt across Creation. Heaven had trembled with it and Castiel knew that every angel in existence would be searching for its source. When Hannah had sent him a frantic call he’d gathered her and his closest followers to him, landing in Death Valley on a whim. Dust curled around his shoes all along the horizon shimmers of heat that would be nearly painful to a human’s yes danced and blurred into the sky.

“Castiel! What was it?” Hannah repeated, stepping forward. He could taste her panic.

“I don’t know.” He lied. It was easy enough to broadcast his unease, his worry and doubt to the angels gathering around him. Their graces were vibrating with a discordant hum, pinging off the sand in fizzling little bursts.

“It came from north of here.” She told him, her wings shuffling anxiously. “And east.”

Castiel stifled a jolt of surprise before he thought better of it and let it flare through his grace. He had hoped the wild spurts of power Gabriel had released would have diffused across all the earth, making it hard to pinpoint the source. Apparently not.

“No.” He said, looking south. “I was here and I felt it from the south.”

Hannah blinked. Behind her Castiel thought he might have detected a small ripple of something slide across Balthazar’s grace but in an instant it was gone.

“I was cruising the South China Sea and I felt it to the West.” He said, keeping his eyes locked on Castiel. There was no hint of a lie that Castiel could detect, yet somehow he knew that Balthazar had sensed his deception and was playing along. “Nearly knocked me out of the sky.”

“So it was not just one event?” Samandriel suggested as he shrank closer to the shelter of Balthazar’s wings. Castiel felt a pang of affection for the young seraph, so fresh from Heaven that he hadn’t yet learned to control his instincts to shelter in the strength of the older angels.

“It must have been multifocal.” Balthazar confirmed. Hannah looked unconvinced.

“What could do something like that?” Samandriel asked, fear crackling through his grace.

“I don’t know.” Castiel lied. “I’ve never felt anything like it.” That part, at least, was true. The unrestrained power of Gabriel’s crumbling essence was shocking.

“Well we’d better find out what it was. If this is Raphael’s doing we’re in big trouble.” Balthazar said.

“How could it be his doing?” Hannah scoffed. “He hasn’t been out of Heaven in months.”

Castiel was about to point out that they did not know that for certain when two more sets of wings kicked up a sandstorm around them. “Castiel!” Nakir cried through the lips of a pretty Polynesian vessel that looked to be in her mid fifties.

“What was it?” demanded Leliel. His grace roiled inside his vessel - a blue-eyed nordic boy in his teens. Both angels were afraid. “It shook the foundations of Heaven.” So they had not been on Earth to feel it.

“Whatever it was it appears to have occurred at multiple locations throughout the world simultaneously.” Castiel repeated.

“We must contact all our brothers and sisters who were on Earth.” Hannah said. “See what they all felt. It is possible one of them knows what might have caused it.”

“Of course.” Castiel agreed, holding back a wince. He had to go along with investigating it and hope they could not localize it to Sioux Falls. “And our brothers and sisters in Heaven. It is possible whatever it was originated there.”

“Could it not have come from Hell?” Samandriel ventured, his grace curling out to shine against everyone else’s, seeking comfort. Nakir and Leliel responded instinctively, soothing him with gentle brushes of their wings. Balthazar stepped a little closer but Hannah frowned.

“Hell has been virtually silent since Lucifer’s fall.” She said.

“True.” Castiel agreed, “but it is worth investigating. Whatever caused this, it is extremely dangerous. The only creature that powerful that have walked the Earth in the last few centuries have been archangels, archdemons, and the horsemen. Raphael is the only archangel left and if he indeed has been locked in Heaven this whole time then…” he shrugged.

“Then we’re looking for something darker.”

“We must hope not.” Castiel smothered a twinge of guilt at the unified look of fear they turned on him, but he could _not_ let anyone know the state Gabriel was in. It could tip the balance in the war irrevocably, not to mention mean the end of Bobby Singer and the Winchesters. Gabriel could not protect himself even from Samandriel in his current condition, and his power in the hands of Raphael would be disastrous.

“Perhaps it is nothing.” Samandriel suggested with a hopeful twitch of his wingtips. “Perhaps… perhaps the world is still adjusting to the Apocalypse being averted. Lucifer and Michael walking the earth… there must be repercussions, right?”

Castiel smiled and let his grace swirl comfortingly around Samandriel’s. “I hope that is all this is. But we must know for sure. Hannah,” he let a hint of command creep into his voice, “go south. Find any of our brethren who felt anything and find out what they know. I will go north. Leliel and Nakir, east and west.”

The three seraphs nodded at him and flew off in a rustle of wings.

“Samandriel.” Castiel said gently. “Are you alright?”

Samandriel’s grace hummed. “I am afraid, I think.” He admitted. “It is… strange. Is this how you felt when you met Lucifer?”

Castiel smiled. “Yes. And many other times since I discovered free will.”

“And this is how humans feel all the time?” Samandriel’s bell-like voice was dim and sad. Castiel watched him play through the highlights of human history in his center, watching the flood, the crusades, the millions of lives taken and the misery that plagued mankind. Instead of the passive disinterest or outright scorn so many angels might display, Samandriel echoed with a new empathy.

“Not all the time.” Balthazar chuckled, attempting to cheer his brother. “They seem to be pretty good at ignoring the terror of their own mortality most of the time.”

“And the uncertainty?” Samandriel pressed, seeming more curious than anything else. “To be able to chose _any_ course…”

“Sam Winchester explained it to me, once.” Castiel remembered. “He said that if he were to think too much about all the possibilities, all the things that could and probably would go wrong, he would be paralyzed, unable to move in any direction for fear he had chosen the wrong one. He said that the best he could do was keep moving, to chose the course that felt right, that aligned most closely with his morals and have faith.”

“In God?” Samandriel tilted his head.

“In his convictions. And that’s what we must do now. We must protect what we believe is right, fight for it. Do you believe that you are doing that here, with us?”

Samandriel straightened. His feathers shifted, sleeking down as his wings lifted. “I do.” He said.

Castiel smiled. “Good. Go to Heaven. Reassure our brothers and sisters that we are investigating. Let them know that if they have any concerns to contact Hannah.”

“Not you?” Balthazar asked, eyes narrowing.

“Hannah will know what to do.” He deflected.

Samandriel straightened up and gave his wings a determined flap. “I will tell them not to be afraid.” He promised, and disappeared.

Balthazar cocked an eyebrow, leaning his weight on one hip and letting his wings droop casually. “So. Lying to Hannah, are we?” he breezed.

Castiel reached out, checking to see if any other angels were watching. They were alone, as far as he could tell. “I am.” He said.

Balthazar nodded, picking dirt out from under his fingernails. “So you know what shook every molecule in creation.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do.” Castiel confirmed.

“And you’re keeping it to yourself because…?” he trailed off. Castiel could not discern any disapproval but he shifted guiltily anyway.

“The source of this disturbance… it cannot benefit anyone for angels to know of it.” Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Least of all our cause. Please, trust me when I say it is under control. It is not a danger to us. At least, not at the moment.”

Balthazar squinted at him. “I’m assuming this has something to do with Dean Winchester?”

Castiel didn’t see any point in denying it. He certainly didn’t want to lie any more than he had to, especially not to one of the few angels who might really seeHe nodded. “It has to do with the case I am helping him with. I assure you I am monitoring the situation extremely closely.”

“Is he attempting to raise his brother from Hell?” Balthazar’s grace remained calm, lapping out around him in shallow waves. Castiel let it wash over his own, allowing himself to open to truth.

“No.” He answered, confident. “He is still committed to seeing Sam’s wishes through, to allow Sam to prevent the End. As am I.” He let his wings fall open, spread his arms. “I swear to you.”

Balthazar tested, probing gently with his grace and eyes alike. Castiel let him, unfurled all his tension and let Balthazar in, afraid of nothing. Finally Balthazar withdrew, nodding. “Alright. But if you want me to keep covering for you with Hannah you’d better keep me in the loop. I’m pretty sure I trust you not to dick me over on this, but one thing I’ve learned after all this time on Earth: I do _not_ like surprises.”

“Thank you for your trust, brother.” Castiel let out a sincere sigh. “I will tell you the instant anything changes. For now, please, just investigate and keep anyone from panicking.”

Balthazar nodded. “Whatever you say, Chief. Just keep an eye on Hannah. I don’t think she’s adjusting to this whole new world order thing quite as well as some of us hoped.”

Castiel frowned. “What do you mean?”

Balthazar sighed. “I’ve gotten used to liars, watching humans. They do it so well. For us it’s more difficult. Takes practice. You’re getting pretty good at it, yourself. Hannah… I don’t know. I never detect anything outright, but she is hiding something. I’d bet my tail on it.”

Castiel shook his head. “I cannot think about that now. She has shown me nothing but loyalty and I cannot afford to be distancing myself from her any more than I already am. Many of our brethren trust me solely because they trust her.”

“And doesn’t that put you in a pretty position?” Balthazar pointed out. “What happens when she says you can no longer be trusted?” Castiel could only stare. Balthazar read in his blank surprise that such a thing had never crossed Castiel’s mind and shrugged again. “I’m just saying, learn to watch your back.”

Castiel let his grace shiver in a tiny show of weariness. “Another lesson learned from humans?”

Balthazar barked out a strangely harsh laugh. “Oh no. That one came straight from Heaven, Cassie, darling.” He said, and took flight.


	19. Give That Man A Cigar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I Can See For Miles - The Who  
> “I know you've deceived me, now here's a surprise  
> I know that you have 'cause there's magic in my eyes”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. A giant project at work and some family issues have meant I had to take a little break from writing. Hoping to keep more steady over the next few months (I know, I promise that every time but for REALSIES this time!). To everyone who's left comments in my absence, THANK YOU!! It's so encouraging to know that someone's enjoying reading this!  
> Hope you enjoy and feedback is life!

They spent the night getting to know Larry Ganem, no one but Ben really able to snatch more than an hour or two of sleep after the uproar of the day. The kid refused to be sent to bed, but passed out in one of Bobby’s squashy armchairs not long after midnight, drooling all over his own shoulder. Dean dropped a tatty crochet blanket over him and hunkered back down with Bobby’s old laptop.

It only took a few hours to sort out Ganem’s story. A clear paper trail in the town newspaper, county court and hospital records laid out Larry’s whole vanilla life. The fourth of six children, Ganem was born in Fort Wayne, Indiana.He married his high school sweetheart, opened a custom carpentry workshop, bought his modest five acres a few hundred miles south of his hometown in the late sixties and never moved again. He and his wife Rose Marie had never had kids. He was a member of the Rotary Club and the Elk’s Lodge, and a few articles from the seventies mentioned his involvement in getting his local branches to allow black members to join. An old knee injury had prevented him from joining up for Vietnam, but he’d been a vocal fundraiser for injured troops. The couple had moved to Harper House - a retirement home he’d helped convert from an old church hall a decade before - when Rose Marie developed dementia in 2002. He’d continued to live there after her death in 2005. The obituary in the local paper had noted his devotion to her through their long and happy marriage. All around on paper he seemed like an upstanding citizen, a real nice guy. But Dean had seen enough covers in his life to know one when he saw it. Larry Ganem’s squeaky-clean persona was pretty much guaranteed to be hiding some pretty serious dirt, as far as Dean was concerned.

Cas poofed in and out, checking the perimeter for any signs that Gabriel’s hissy fit had been noticed and handling a few things in Heaven. He was never gone more than an hour and each time he left and returned from out in the scrap yard to try and spare Gabriel any after-burn from his grace. For her part Gabriel had stayed glued to Lisa, drowsing against her hip like a sleepy toddler as Lisa leafed through old phone books looking for Ganems.

Sam said almost nothing, carefully noting down anything Dean found without comment. Once or twice Dean caught him staring at Gabriel, a frown pinching his eyebrows in something that might have been concern, but other than that he was frighteningly blank. Just a stranger wearing his brother’s skin.

When Bobby suggested an hour or so after sunrise that someone check on the body in the basement Dean had jumped at the chance to get away from Sam and took the stairs two at a time to the panic room.

Dean stared down at the silver smudge staining the panic room floor, all that was left of Bill.

Fucking angels, man.

“It’s impossible to know if Gabriel was telling the truth about his illness.” Castiel said from the doorway, apparently back from his latest trip upstairs. Dean sighed.

“Figured.” He grunted. “Do you believe her?” He turned, watching Cas’s eyes trace the almost-distinguishable outline of Bill’s body. Slowly, the angel nodded.

“I do.” He said. “His soul was stretched thin, its attachments to this world fraying. I believe Gabriel’s grace was the only thing that kept him here at all.”

Dean shivered, an unpleasant idea taking hold. “Is all that crap true, then? Can you actually see people’s souls? Just all the time?”

Cas nodded, raising his gaze to Dean. “Some more clearly than others.”

 

“Awesome.” Sighed Dean, fidgeting. Dude was staring at his soul, after all. “Sorry for the shitty view.” He cringed. Pathetic. He needed to shake this self-indulgent whining, man up, and get down to business. Wounded and unstable archangel, psycho apocalypse re-starting archangel, soulless Sam, demons snooping around, weird overpowered magical hideout with his name all over it, and a civil war brewing in Heaven with his friend stuck in the middle. There were plenty more important things to be dealing with than his hurt feelings.

Cas tilted his head but before he could give Dean another incredibly depressing pep-talk Dean spoke up. “So what do we do with her?”

Cas frowned slightly but didn’t push it. “She will be safe enough here for the moment. I think we should get a better look at the location we found them before allowing him back in there. Who knows what sort of magic Sam made you release when you broke that spell?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah. You think this place is secure enough to hold her?”

“As you said, it’s tight as a flea.” Cas nodded and Dean cracked a much-needed smile.

“Tick, Cas.” He corrected. “The expression is ‘tight as a tick’.”

“Whatever arthropod you prefer.” Cas shrugged and Dean rasped out a chuckle. “I believe if Gabriel wanted to escape she would have to walk out like a normal human.” Cas continued. “Bobby is more than capable of preventing that. Besides,” he glanced at the ceiling, probably peering straight through it, “It would be in her best interest to stay within the wards.”

“Good.” Dean scuffed his boot through the silvery ash, spreading it across the floor. “Then why don’t we go talk to this Larry Ganem and see why the hell my name was plastered all over a hill in Carthage?”

“And Sam?”

“I’m not leaving Bobby to deal with girl-Gabriel and a Sambot.” Dean said grimly. He was going to keep a close eye on his brother’s body, and the sneaky little sociopath inside it. “Sam comes with us.”

Cas didn’t object, turned out. “I would advise bringing Gabriel’s blade.” He said. “We don’t know what we’ll find with Ganem and I don’t think it should be left within Gabriel’s reach.”

“Think she’s gonna try to stick one of us?” Dean asked, trying to imagine that little wisp of a girl upstairs wielding an angel blade. It was creepily easy.

Castiel shook his head. “No, but an angel’s blade is forged from their grace.”

“What?” Dean balked, “how does that work?”

Cas slipped his own out of his sleeve and showed it to Dean. “When an angel wishes to make a blade they must take a sliver of grace and pour it into one of their fallen primary feathers. Over a century or so you hone it, shape it, refine it with prayer and practice, until eventually you are left with this. That’s why an angel blade can destroy grace, because it came from grace.”

“Oh.” Dean said stupidly, staring at Cas’s sword. That was a feather?

“It isn’t grace anymore, but it retains an echo.” Cas continued. “If Gabriel is as unstable as she appears I do not know what touching her blade might do to her.”

“Right.” Dean stammered. “Don’t let the kid touch the knife. Got it.” He rolled his shoulders. “Alright. Let’s suit up.” Cas opened his mouth, his head cocked over his shoulder again but Dean cut him off. “Expression, Cas.” He explained. “Means let’s get going.”

“Right.” Cas said, and followed him back upstairs.

Sam was the only one left in the living room, still hunched over his notes with a puzzled frown on his face. Dean ignored him and went straight to the kitchen, following his nose. He could smell eggs, bacon, and toast and his stomach snarled in sudden hunger. When was the last time he’d eaten? In the kitchen they found Bobby fussing with his janky old coffee machine and Lisa coaxing Ben and Gabriel both to eat some oatmeal at the little table. Gabriel picked at it with a pouty frown until Lisa dug some brown sugar out of Bobby’s cabinet and mixed in a healthy spoonful.

“Can’t I have some?” Ben demanded, glaring at Gabriel’s dish. The little girl smacked her lips obnoxiously and grinned.

“A little.” Lisa allowed, lightly dusting the top of his oatmeal. “And both of you take some banana slices. You too, Dean.” She stood, pressed a mug of coffee into one of his hands and a slice of toast with peanut butter and banana slices into the other.

“That’s not fair!” Ben whined, pointing his spoon accusingly and ignoring Gabriel when she crossed her eyes at him. “She got way more than me!”

“She’s an angel and she’s sick.” Lisa told him primly, stroking Gabriel’s hair. Gabriel leaned into it like a smug cat.

“Yeah.” She grinned, sticking her tongue out. “And you are neither of those things.”

“What’s being an angel got to do with it?” demanded Ben.

“Very little.” Cas noted, frowning as Gabriel tugged the bag over from where Lisa had left it on the table and dug another spoonful of sugar out for herself. “But perhaps centuries of posing as Loki has forced my brother to gain a few Trickster traits more permanently.”

“Loki?” Ben repeated, sitting up straighter. He stared at the little girl across from him in wonder. “Like Thor’s brother?”

“That’s me!” Gabriel agreed cheerfully, smushing a wad of banana into her mouth. “And let me tell you kid, T. Hidds ain’t got shit on the real deal.”

“Except about six inches.” Dean snorted, thinking of Gabriel’s vertically-challenged former vessel. “And what, like three feet now?”

Gabriel wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Not where it counts, Dean-o.” She winked.

“Gross.”

“Are you feeling better?” Cas asked, squatting so that he was face to face with the littler angel. She sat straight in her chair, her feet dangling a few inches off the floor and stared back at him. She was still grimy and her face stained with tears, but the listless haze that had come over her in the night seemed to have passed.

“Kinda.” Gabriel allowed. She turned to watch Lisa as she stirred milk into her coffee. Gabriel’s eyes softened, going a bit dreamy again as she watched Lisa’s hair spill over her shoulder. Dean chose to ignore how freaking creepy that look was and downed his toast in three gigantic bites.

Ben paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Wait, didn’t the real Loki give birth to a horse?” he asked, his face scrunched in confusion. Gabriel blinked.

“An eight-legged horse.” Bobby supplied helpfully, turning the bacon with a bland expression. “Sleipnir. Changed himself into a mare and mated with the stallion Svaðilfari, if I remember the story right.” The old hunter cast Gabriel a quizzical look. The angel’s face went comically innocent.

Ben stared, his mouth flopping open as the little girl Gabriel was inhabiting calmly downed another spoonful of oatmeal. “Did you do that?”

“Hey,” Gabriel shrugged, “for all you know Svaðilfari was a total babe magnet. Have you seen Equus?”

Dean cut in. “Let’s not contemplate what this dude has or has not done with horses, ok?”

“Don’t try to kink-shame me, Winchester. It can’t be done.” Gabriel sniffed, diving her sticky oatmeal spoon straight into the sugar bag and sticking a whole spoonful in her mouth. “And besides,” she swallowed, “I know a few naughty stories about you that the kid might like to hear. Play nice or I’ll tell him. Remember Tallahassee?” Dean blushed, a sudden vision of being sixteen years old, long blonde hair, skinny legs and an embarrassingly fast end to the night filling his brain. Lisa raised an amused eyebrow and Ben looked caught between shocked and eager. Gabriel grinned.

Great.

Before Dean could tell Gabriel to shut her fat mouth Castiel stepped forward and snatched the sugar bag from her hand.

“Enough.” Cas told her gently, rolling the bag closed and replacing it in the cupboard. “I know you delight in annoying him but we have serious concerns to address.”

“Right.” Gabriel sighed, shaking out her raggedy ponytail. “So what’s the plan? I’m guessing I’m not welcome on whatever expedition you two pions are planning?”

“Give that man a cigar.” Dean muttered.

Gabriel made a face. “Unless you’ve got a bubble gum one, no thanks.”

“We’re headed to find Ganem?” Sam asked from the doorway. Dean turned, glaring. It was still a shock to see Sam just standing there, just existing. Only 48 hours ago Sam had been busy not existing, dead. Gone. And now he was here. Kind of.

“What makes you think you’re any more welcome than she is?” Dean demanded, shaking off the aftershock. Of course they were taking him with them but something about Sam assuming he was coming along, like it was old times or some shit, really pissed Dean off.

Sam gave him a familiar “oh, come on, Dean” sort of smile. “Gabriel isn’t stable enough to be moved, and there’s no way you would leave Bobby on his own to handle both of us with Lisa and Ben in the house, especially when Gabriel can’t go in the panic room.”

“We could shove you back in the panic room.” Dean suggested.

Sam shrugged. “But you won’t. You don’t trust Gabriel not to find a way to let me out. It’s a safer bet to keep me in sight and away from Gabriel until you trust one of us.”

Dean ground his teeth. “And I didn’t think it was possible for you to get more annoying.” He grated.

Sam snorted. “I’m still me, Dean.” He said. “I still know how you think, I can follow simple logic.”

“Oh, can you?” Dean scoffed. “Like ‘let’s not blow ourselves up on a hunch’? That kind of logic?”

Sam actually had the balls to roll his eyes. “You’d eventually have gotten around to breaking the spell if we’d explained our plan anyway. You’d have hemmed and hawed and insisted we be careful about it, but you’d have gotten there. You weren’t just going to walk away from a place like that, even if it didn’t have your name all over it. I just cut out three hours of arguing.”

“You risked all our lives without even telling me.” Dean growled, crowding up into Sam’s face. Goddamn he wanted to hit him again.

“And it worked.” Sam countered, no scrap of shame to be found.

“Dean.” Cas placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, cutting through the red haze clouding Dean’s vision. “You’re right, Sam. We are taking you with us. I don’t trust that you would peaceably wait here for us to gather information if you saw a faster way.”

Sam just nodded, not bothering to deny the angel’s suspicion. “Good. We’ll leave after breakfast?”

 

* * * *

 

The retirement home was a lot nicer than Dean had expected.

They’d blipped in outside of Harper House on the outskirts of Indianapolis at ten past ten the next morning on a patch of sun-drenched lawn. Cas released Dean and Sam’s shoulders as they landed behind a neat hedge near the back of the property, a well-tended garden leading away toward the one-story building. Little scalloped eaves and cheerful red brick gave the place an old-school feel, and boxes overflowed with bright flowers at every window. There was a wide bit of lawn cropped short with paved paths smooth enough for wheelchairs and walkers to glide down with ease. Overall it looked pretty damn nice.

“It’s warded.” Cas said, looking around at the lemon and pear trees that shaded the lawn. “Not very strongly, though.”

“Anything to worry about? Demons or anything?” Dean asked. Cas shook his head. “Right.” Dean whispered as they climbed the stairs to the green-painted door. “Here goes nothing.”

Dean adjusted Gabriel’s blade inside his coat, making sure he could slip his hand in for it quickly if he needed. Sam was carrying the demon knife and Cas had his own blade stashed wherever it actually went when it shot up his sleeve.

As they pushed through the green-painted door into a cheerful reception hall at Harper’s House Dean kept his eyes out for anything hinky. He caught Sam scanning the place too, glad to see that at least some of his hunter’s instincts were still intact.

“Welcome to Harper House,” A blond with a pleasantly chubby face chirped from behind the reception desk. She was probably thirty or so, wearing a creamy pink sweater and glasses. A little vase of flowers sat by her computer monitor, welcoming. “How can I help you?”

Cas stepped forward but Dean cut him off, not about to let him spill out the whole story and get them kicked out or committed. If it was left to him the angel would probably have just stormed the place, dropping in on Ganem directly. Dean didn’t like to think of the ruckus that could cause at an old folks home. Cas glanced at him and Dean just shook his head, pushing him gently aside. Dean plastered on his widest smile, hoping it looked sincere, and leaned his elbows on the desk. “Hi, miss.” He drawled, watching the color climb up her cheeks as he poured on the charm. He glanced at the pink name plate beside her keyboard. “Grace. I’m Dean, this is Sam and that’s Cas. We’re looking for someone.”

“Of course.” She said, fluttering her lashes at him. “Is it a resident?”

“We think so.” Dean said, twitching his mouth sheepishly. “Do you have a Larry Ganem living here?”

Grace blinked, surprise evident in the way she pushed her glasses up her prim little nose. “Larry?” she asked, “what on earth do you want with him?”

Dean blinked at her, glancing instinctively at Sam. If her question surprised him he didn’t show it, just shrugging at Dean to continue.

“I’m sorry.” She twittered, blushing. “It’s just that he’s never had a visitor before.”

Dean tried to cover his surprise. “Really?” he hummed easily. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Are you relations of his?” she asked, looking dubious. The staff almost certainly knew the family histories of their long-term residents, so this was tricky territory

Dean smiled. “Well, that’s what we’re here to find out.” He explained. “My brother here is doing some research into our family tree and we think Mr. Ganem might be part of it.” He hitched his thumb at Sam. Grace frowned skeptically, but Sam stepped forward with a bright, sunny smile. His eyes came alive, the flat mask he’d worn since they’d found him dissolving into something earnest and mobile, so achingly Sam that Dean held his breath.

“Our parents have been gone a long time now.” Sam said softly, managing to look serenely mournful as he dipped his head in mock pain. “It’s just my brother and me.” Sam cast a shy glance at Dean and Grace made a little hiccuping sound, clearly taken in. She pressed her fingers to her mouth, her eyes huge. “We’ve never really known where we came from.” Sam explained. “We don’t have any other family left - except Cas here. He’s been helping me research.” He spared a warm, gooey smile for the angel. Cas just blinked at him. “And when I found out Mr. Ganem might be our great uncle, and that he was still living here I got so excited…” he shrugged, a convincing blush creeping up his cheeks. “You were right Dean,” he fretted, shuffling his feet and shoving his hands into his pockets as if embarrassed, “we should have called first. We can come back!” he shot Grace a pleading puppy-dog look and Dean watched her melt.

“Oh of course you can see Mr. Ganem!” She said, touching a hand to her chest as if Sam was actually breaking her heart. “He never gets visitors and I’m sure he would so love to meet his great nephews!”

“Oh, thank you!” Sam said, sagging in relief. He beamed at her as she scooted out from behind her desk, patting her hair and adjusting her sweater.

“Let me just see where he is at the moment and I’ll be right back.” As soon as she disappeared through the double doors leading to the rest of the home Sam dropped the act, straightening up and turning his dead eyes back to Dean and Cas.

“And the Emmy goes to.” Dean grumbled. Even minus a soul Sam could weasel his way into anyone’s confidences, apparently.

Sam flicked a half smile at him. “Got us in.” He shrugged. Dean tucked the sour bile feeling down deeper in his gut. He didn’t have time right now to think about his brother being a soulless sociopath. He needed to focus on Ganem and whatever they were going to find beyond those doors.

Grace ducked back through the door, waving a pink-manicured hand to call them forward. “Mr. Ganem is just playing cards with some of the other residents right now.” She said, pointing across a bright, sunny day room. “Just over here. I’ll introduce you.”

“Thanks.” Sam said, all breathy and wistful. Dean fought down a stomach cramp.

No one took particular notice of them as they crossed the day room. A few residents were sitting by the wide windows, watching birds come and go from a bank of feeders in the garden, while a handful more sat around a table playing poker with what looked like bottle caps as chips. One frog-like old woman in massive black glasses seemed to be cleaning up and she cackled as she hauled a fresh hand of bottle caps over to her side of the table.

“Barbara, you really are the most gracious winner.” Snipped a skeletal woman from across the table. She only had a handful of bottle caps left in front of her and was clearly not taking her streak of bad luck well.

“Shut it, Gertie!” Barbara giggled, dumping her winnings into a tupperware jug and rattling it spitefully. “Your deal, Portman.” A lumpy-nosed man across the table fumbled for the cards, his hands searching the table top before landing on each player’s discards.

They came to a stop behind the fourth player, an old man in a wheelchair. He was wearing a pair of neat brown slacks and brightly polished shoes. A cozy oatmeal sweater was draped around his thin shoulders and his sparse hair was combed back in a slick swoop. His moustache was neatly trimmed and a cup of tea sat cooling on the table beside him.

“Mr. Ganem?” Grace said sweetly, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, Grace, dear?” Ganem asked, rolling his head back over his shoulder to turn milk-white eyes on the receptionist.

Blind. Hu. Dean looked at the cards Portman was busy dealing and realized they were brail. Everyone at the table was blind. He shot Cas a look but the angel was too busy watching Ganem’s drifting gaze to notice. The old man tilted one large, furry ear behind him, taking in the noise of three new pairs of shoes.

“Visitors?” he hummed, seeming less surprised than Grace had been. A gummy smile turned up the corners of his mouth as he slowly manoeuvred his wheelchair around to face them. He moved carefully, like a man who didn’t trust his own motor skills anymore. His hands quivered on the electric controls of his chair, his feet shivering in the foot-holds.His smile was bland as dry toast and he seemed like a stiff breeze might send him rolling across the room. Dean wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find at Harper House, but this feeble old guy wasn’t it.

“Yes, Mr. Ganem!” Grace bubbled. “These two boys and their friend are here to talk to you. They think, well…” She smiled at Sam, making a “go on” sort of motion with her hands.

“Well, sir,” Sam said, pouring it on thick enough to suffocate a rat. “We think you might be a distant relation of ours. We don’t have much family left and we were hoping to talk to you a bit, see if we might be part of yours.”

“Oh how sweet!” cooed Gertie, pulling a pair of batty glasses from a pocket to peer at Sam.

“That’s amazing!” Ganem exclaimed, patting his own knee in delight. His wrinkled cheeks wrinkled a little more and his moustache bristled over a wide smile, yellow-toothed smile. Dean fought back a frown. This guy was supposed to know what was going on with the mystical Fort Knox they’d found? It seemed pretty unlikely. Maybe Gabriel had scrambled her brains more than she’d realized with that Voldemort stuff. “How marvellous!”

Barbara tapped her fat hand on the edge of the table. “Larry, you in or out here?” she demanded.

“Out.” Ganem beamed, his head wobbling unsteadily on his shoulders. “I’ve got visitors, Barbie.” Dean choked down a snort at the nickname. “Come, come,” Ganem mumbled, wheeling himself away from the table. “I have some photo albums in my room. We can talk there.”

“Thank you, sir!” Sam breathed, throwing Dean a quick smug glance. Cas was frowning, watching Ganem cross the room and ignoring Grace’s fluttering goodbye.

They followed the old guy to a room down the far hall marked seventeen and held the door as he made his way inside. It was neat as a pin, with bland watercolors in fussy frames on the wall and a deep, soft-looking duvet on the bed. Ganem steered himself into the middle of the rug and pointed to a bureau in the corner.

‘The albums are in there.” He said. As Dean followed Cas inside the door snapped shut, the lock slamming behind them.

Shit.

Dean jumped, one hand reaching for Gabriel’s blade. Ganem swung his chair around, glaring at Sam with venom in his sightless eyes.

“What are you, then?” he demanded, his voice more solid than Dean would have thought his wizened frame capable of producing. “You don’t smell like a demon.”

“You may have lost your Emmy after all, Sam.” Dean muttered. He’d actually been taken in by the doddering old fart routine. Goddamn he was rusty. Sam ignored him.

“I’m not a demon.” Sam told Ganem calmly, not seeming too surprised that the old guy could tell he was off.

Ganem tilted his head back and forth, as if listening to each of them where they stood. “But not a human. Well, it doesn’t matter. If you came to kill me I’m afraid it won’t do you any good.”

Sam blinked. “Why would we want to kill you?” he asked, stepping forward. He took two steps onto the carpet and grunted, his legs sticking in place and his arms caught in the air by his sides. For a second something close to panic flitted across his face and Ganem huffed in satisfaction.

Larry chuckled darkly. “You’re not the first henchman to come looking for her.” He spat. “I’ve killed a dozen at once so don’t think you’re going to get the drop on a helpless old blind man.”

“Hey, man, we’re not here to kill you.” Dean told Ganem, wondering how in the hell the old guy had frozen Sam in place. He hadn’t made a motion or muttered a spell, must have already had some pretty serious wards in place.

“Shut up, boy.” Ganem grunted, not taking his attention of Sam. “Did this thing tell you you were coming for a friendly chat? It lies.” Sam made a strangled sort of noise in his throat.

“Can he breathe?” Dean squeaked, stupidly stumbling forward to check on Sam. As soon as his boots touched carpet his whole body locked up, every muscle snapping rigid and his teeth clacking together painfully. He couldn’t blink, breathe, couldn’t even twitch an ass cheek.

Double shit.

“Brainless.” Grunted Ganem, chuckling to himself. “Now how to kill you?”

Dean wriggled uselessly, claustrophobia threatening to engulf him. He threw a pleading look at Cas but the angel wasn’t paying him any attention. Cas pursed his lips, staring at the old man with a curious squint.

“It’s a very sophisticated piece of magic.” Cas commented, stepping onto the carpet near Ganem’s wheels and peering at it like he could see more than just the ugly patterned swirls. “Rather like a devil’s trap. Designed to not only imprison but to immobilize entirely. Any demon caught in it would be easy to dispatch with a simple exorcism, and any human would most likely suffocate.”

Ganem frowned, tilting his ear towards Cas as if to get a better read on him. “How are you doing that?” He asked, a twinge of fear working its way across his face. “What are you?” Cas didn’t answer, just peered at Ganem’s eyes with an intense frown. Ganem began muttering, alarm lacing his tone as he began reciting an exorcism at rapid speed. Cas quickly touched Sam’s shoulder, then Dean’s, and they each drew in a desperate, ragged breath. Ganem muttered faster, real panic in his sightless eyes.

Cas reached out, placing his hand on Ganem’s head. The old man jerked upright, his chair rattling as his chant cut off. Dean watched the film drain off his eyes, leaving them bright and brown and sighted. The old man gasped, blinking furiously at the new light.

“I’m sorry it cannot be permanent.” Castiel said gently, bending down so he was eye level with Ganem. The old man shook, his gnarled fingers clamped onto his arm rests. “You were blinded by a demon, a very powerful one, weren’t you?”

Dean frowned, rubbing at his aching chest. “I thought you said there was no demonic magic in here.”

“There isn’t.” Cas said, not bothering to look at him. “But I can see the scars here.” He gestured to Larry’s face with his free hand, the wrinkled skin looking perfectly normal to Dean.

“Wh- what are you?” Ganem repeated, his voice reduced to a reedy wheeze.

“He’s an angel.” Dean answered, stepping up so Larry could see him over Cas’s shoulder. “Are you a witch or something?”

Ganem didn’t answer, just stared at Castiel like he was afraid to blink. Probably was. It wasn’t every day you got your sight restored, Dean guessed. Sam moved over to the window and peered out at the cheerful garden, the twirled the blinds shut. A yellowy gloom swallowed the room and Ganem finally managed to glance away from Cas.

“Better?” Sam asked, indicating the room with a sweep of his hand. Ganem nodded, eyes watering. His chin trembled as he looked at Sam, really looked at him, a tiny sound in his throat.

“Good lord.” He murmured. His fist tightened on the controls, his chair jumping a few inches forward before he managed to release it. “Henry!”


	20. Legacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a such long time because I really struggled to make it readable. There’s a ton of exposition, which I apologize for, but I needed it in order to further the plot along. Just a warning: Cain and the knights of hell take a very different turn in my version than in the show. Thanks for your patience! I’m still not 100% sure this makes as much sense on paper as it does in my head so if anything is still really fuzzy please let me know. Enjoy and feedback is life!
> 
> The Battle of Evermore - Led Zeppelin   
>  The sky is filled with good and bad  
>  That mortals never know.

“So you’re saying you knew our grandfather. And that he was part of this weird hunter club with you?” Dean asked again, still trying to believe it. Ganem looked back and forth between him and Sam for the hundredth time, shaking his head.

“Henry Winchester was not a hunter. He was a Man of Letters.” He croaked, fiddling with a tarnished gold ring on his left pinkie.

“Right.” Dean nodded. “And that’s different because…?”

Ganem didn’t answer, only shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re Johnny’s boys.”

“Did you know our dad, too?” Asked Sam. He sat on the bed, hands clasped and wrists resting on his knees. It had taken Ganem about two seconds to decide that he was mistaken, that Sam couldn’t be Henry Winchester. For one thing Henry would be about ninety years old, and for another Sam had a good foot of height on the guy. At least. But apparently the resemblance was strong enough that he had put two and two together, and held off on trying to kill them again. At least long enough to feed them some cock-and-bull story about a secret society of mystics and hunters who were apparently their ancestors or some shit. Ganem had been waiting for a “legacy”, he said, for decades.

“I met him a few times when he was just little.” Ganem admitted, rubbing at his eyes with trembling fingers. Dean wondered if it hurt to get your sight back after however long being blind. Probably a bit of sensory overload. Cas stood beside Dean, hands in the pockets of his trench coat and his usual blank stare boring through Ganem. He hadn’t said a word as Ganem poured out his secret society schtick, but that didn’t really give Dean much of a clue as to what the angel thought about it.

“Henry brought him to the shop when he was knee-high. And he grew up to be a hunter?” Ganem smiled but there was nothing happy in it. “I tried to keep tabs on him and Millie - your grandmother - after Henry left, but I had to keep to myself mostly. I lost track of Johnny when he joined the service, couldn’t risk poking my nose in any further.”

“Why not?” Sam asked.

“The same reason your grandfather never came back.” Ganem sighed.

“Because this demon attacked your clubhouse.” Dean growled. Henry Winchester had deserted his family, had run out on his wife and kid. The why didn’t really matter to Dean. The story Ganem was spinning of secret societies and missions to save mankind was a crock of shit as far as he was concerned.

“She was much more than a demon.” Ganem scowled, touching his cheekbone. “Abaddon was a Knight of Hell.”

That, at least, got a reaction out of Cas. His eyebrow twitched up slightly which Dean took to mean this was big news.

“Those real?” Dean asked the angel.

“Very much so.” Castiel confirmed. There was a note in his voice that might have been concern. “Abaddon was one of the first demons ever created, hand-picked by Lucifer and trained by Cain to join the most feared of Lucifer’s ranks.” Ganem was nodding along with the angel. When Cas took a step closer the old man looked up at him, squinting. “The Knights of Hell were banished from the earth along with Lucifer when Michael cast him into the pit.”

“We thought the Archangels had killed them all.” Said Ganem. “That’s what the church had believed for hundreds of years. But there were whispers that perhaps one or two had survived. A number of our order investigated the possibility in the 1850s but the research was abandoned with the outbreak of the American Civil War. Each time someone attempted to return to it, another war broke out. I often wonder if perhaps it was the work of demons, creating distractions large enough to ensure we had to set that line of inquiry aside…” he drifted off, his eyes going glassy again. Sam cleared his throat and Ganem shook himself.

“Yes. Well.” He blustered, his moustache bristling. “By the time we came back to the research after World War II there were more than just whispers. The council didn’t want to hear it-“

“Council?” Sam asked.

Ganem clarified. “Elders from each of the main branches. The council was based in Switzerland during my days, so they were more concerned with picking up the pieces of overrun caches and securing our vaults across Europe after the war than reopening lines of inquiry. There were thousands of artefacts of unimaginable power unaccounted for after the nazi’s tore the continent apart. The council wasn’t interested in diverting resources from their recovery to a line of speculation about a being most believed didn’t even exist anymore.”

“This is all fascinating and earth-shaking and all that, but why should we give a damn?” Dean demanded.

“She found a way out.” Ganem said, his face paling. Dean had seen that look before. It was the look of someone reliving some pretty horrible shit. He’d seen it in the mirror in the middle of the night for the last six months.

“Someone dumb enough to summon her?” Sam guessed, sharing a glance with Cas. The angel pursed his lips but just listened.

Ganem shook his wobbly head. “A summoning of that magnitude would take thousands of voices all raised in unison. It would require a blood sacrifice on par with the battle of Stalingrad.” Dean wasn’t sure how much that was but the way Sam’s eyebrows almost shot off his face said it was a lot of blood. “And perhaps that’s what some demon was trying to do. But no. She found a path.”

“A path out of Hell?” Dean balked, glancing at Sam. Sam looked skeptical, Cas was frowning.

“One of our order,” Ganem sighed, “a newly initiated brother, was cataloguing manuscripts from the archives of the Vatican for our collection.”

“Why did you have those?” Sam asked. Dean smirked. Even soulless Sam was still having nerd-outs about dusty old books.

Ganem made a vague gesture. “We pooled information whenever possible, to make sure that we had the most complete understanding of the paranormal world. The manuscripts were sent to us in 1940 just before Mussolini took his swan-dive into France. Some brothers there were concerned that the collections of Rome and the Vatican would be at risk as Italy became a direct player in the war.”

“Thanks for the history lesson.” Dean muttered. Sam shot him a look.

“And this new brother,” Sam asked, “the one examining the documents, he stumbled on this path?”

Ganem shook his head again. “No. Tom was foolish, naive. He spoke to his wife about the documents, told her things she should never have known.”

Dean suppressed a groan. He could see where this was going. “Only it wasn’t her listening.” He guessed.

Ganem nodded. “A demon had taken possession of her in order to learn our secrets. It was common practice for the families of our members to go through exorcisms regularly, and to wear protective charms to prevent possession. But Tom had been lax in his duties, and Margaret paid the price.” A brief flash of pain crinkled his face. “The demon convinced Tom to allow her to see the manuscripts. He brought them home to her and she killed him, took them away. By the time we knew what had happened the demon had used the manuscripts to piece together a way to free Abaddon.”

“How do you know all this?” Sam demanded. He had a pretty good point. This guy was laying out a pretty detailed account of how a Knight of Hell had managed to wipe out a worldwide secret order.

“She told me.” Ganem said. His eyes grew distant, and this time the pain on his face was more than just a flicker. “When she came for us.”

“Abaddon?” Sam said.

Ganem sighed. “There were thousands of us. Headquarters in Milan, Alexandria, Cusco, Damascus, Hokkaido… even Ulaanbaatar. For centuries we gathered the secrets of our world, sought to understand. She wiped us out in four days.”

Sam whistled. Dean bit down on his cheek, anger he didn’t really understand racing through him. “So how come you’re here?”

Ganem stared at his gnarled hands, a few tears escaping to sink into the grooves of his wrinkled cheeks.

“How come you lived to tell about it, hu?” Dean pressed.

When Ganem’s eyes met his again they were hollow. “I was working in the library. Not even a full member yet, just a trainee.” He said, his voice little more than a crackling wheeze. “She saved us for last. I don’t know why. By the time we figured out what she was and how to stop her she was already at our door. Henry and I, we were working with Bailey. Henry had been out on missions but only ever research, never real field work, but he was a full member of the order. But Carson - Carson Bailey, one of the older brothers - he had been pushing on this research for a long time. He enlisted as many junior officers as he could to help him, convinced we were on the brink of something world-changing. It was your grandfather, me, Josie Sands, Marlon Kitchens, and a few others.” He sipped his tea, which must have been ice-cold by now but he didn’t seem to notice.

“We figured out a way to trap her.” The old man wiped his lips on a hanky he produced from his pocket. “It wouldn’t destroy her but it would at least stop her in her tracks. Carson and Marlon were killed in the first assault. Ackers, Bullen, all the elders were wiped out before she even made it to the bunker. She came to our door and… I let her in.”

“You let her in?” Sam repeated, incredulous.

Ganem sniffed, shaking his head. “Josie was a very brave woman.” He said, staring out the window. “She was the daughter of one of our elders, a legacy with a pedigree almost no one else could match. Have you come across the idea that you can protect yourself from all manner of supernatural being through tattoos?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah.” He said, tugging down the collar of his t-shirt. “We got the memo.”

Ganem ignored the snark, just nodded. “Josie was tattooed with anti-possession symbols when she was just six years old. A Kiowa spiritual leader designed marks for her shoulders and belly. She had her feet marked with protective pentagrams and coptic crosses. She even had ones in pale ink on her face. She was the most protected person I’ve ever met. It never occurred to me she might be taken.”

“But she was.” Castiel guessed. Dean winced. He knew that mistake all too well. Never get too comfortable. Anti-possession tattoos and charms weren’t fool proof. The minute you thought they were you were in deep shit.

Ganem nodded. “Abaddon had burned some away, sliced off others. I was a talented spell-worker, but Henry had the instincts required to become a real leader. He would have been an excellent field agent.” Ganem sighed. “He saw right away what she was, and enacted the plan our team had outlined.”

“Which was?” Cas asked, a tinge of curiosity coloring his tone. Dean wondered if taking down Knights of Hell was a little like the Super Bowl for angels. Maybe big-game hunting…

“Do you know what a devil’s trap is?” Ganem shook his head. “If you’re hunters, you must.”

“We’ve used them from time to time.” Sam said, flashing Dean a smirk.

“You use them nearly constantly.” Cas frowned. Dean snorted.

Ganem pointed to his dresser. “There’s a gun in the middle drawer.” Sam leaned over and opened it, pulling out a well-kept revolver.

“They let you have that here?” Dean asked, surprised. Ganem cracked a real smile, his eyes twinkling for a moment.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” He said. He pointed towards the drawer again. “There’s a box as well…” Sam drew out a rattling match box and slid it open to reveal a few dozen silver bullets. “The tops.” Ganem said. Dean leaned over to watch as Sam plucked one out of the box.

“A devil’s trap carved into the bullet?” Dean asked, impressed.

“That can’t kill a demon, surely?” Sam asked, examining it more closely. If they’d really been missing out on something that simple all these years Dean was gonna punch himself.

Ganem shook his head. “If you get it in the head or the heart it traps the demon in the body.”

“No smoke out?” Dean raised his eyebrows.

“No. They have to stay and be exorcised.”

Dean picked one from the box. “That could be handy.” He allowed.

“Henry knew what Abaddon was the moment he saw her. She put her hand on my face, took my sight…” the old man shuddered, his wheelchair rattling. “I’ve never felt such pain in my life. I could smell my own skin burning.” Dean winced. “Henry put a bullet in her brain before she could kill me.”

“A human wouldn’t have had the strength to exorcise a Knight of Hell.” Cas said. “What did you do with her?”

Ganem rubbed at his cheekbone, no doubt still remembering the pain of the demon’s attack. “We found a reliquary, sanctified by Pope Gregory I in the first century. It was part of the Vatican’s relics and artefacts and strong enough to act as a receptacle for a Knight of Hell.”

“That legit?” Dean asked Cas.

The angel shrugged. “There are relics of incredible power all over the earth. Gabriel’s horn, Moses’s staff. It’s conceivable that one or more of them might be useful in trapping a Knight of Hell.”

“Henry trapped her in it.” Ganem said, “It was an incredibly draining spell and he nearly died in the attempt, but I leant him my voice and we managed it together.”

“What does that mean?” Sam asked.

“Not every witch has made a deal with a demon to gain power.” Ganem explained. “Some of us have a natural affinity for magic. As I understand it, it has to do with our souls.” He looked at Cas, his bushy eyebrows bunching in question.

“As I said,” Cas allowed, “The human soul is a thing of incredible power. That’s how you two have always cast spells, drawing on that power. Many humans are able to access that well more easily than others, white witches, for instance.”

“I was a talented spell-worker.” Ganem repeated. “I managed to bridge into his spell and let him draw on my power. It was enough to pull her out of Josie and into the reliquary.”

Cas turned, tilting his head toward the door and holding his hand up for silence. There was a soft knock and Grace’s voice came through.

“Mr. Ganem?” she twittered.

The old man shut his eyes and turned toward the door. “Yes, Grace?”

The handle turned and Grace peeked her blond head in. She took in Dean’s tense stance, Cas’s ever-stiff posture. Sam flashed her a disarming smile and stood, moving to open the door the rest of the way for her. She was carrying a tray of cups, a small pot of coffee and and a tiny teapot. She set it on the dresser with a wary glance at Dean. Sam shot him a frown - _you’re blowing it, Dean_ \- and Dean tried to smile. Grace’s pinched expression said it wasn’t quite working right but Dean couldn’t seem to get control of his face. This whole thing was ridiculous. They’d thrown Lucifer into the cage but they still couldn’t have a freaking day off?

“I brought you all something to drink.” Grace explained, lifting Ganem’s half-empty tea-cup and pressing a cup of coffee into his hands instead. “Are you alright?” she asked, frowning. The old man was still squeezing his eyes shut and Dean realized he’d forgotten the guy was supposed to be blind. Shit.

“Fine, fine. The excitement’s given me a bit of a headache, but I’m perfectly well.” Ganem smiled.

“Does he get headaches a lot?” Sam asked, his whole face melting into concern. Grace shot him a gooey smile.

“Sometimes.” She allowed.

“Can we get you anything?” Sam asked, dropping his hand onto Ganem’s shoulder. He even squatted down beside the wheelchair, which Dean thought was probably going a bit too far until he realized Sam had put himself between Grace and the old man. Ganem cracked an eye open but shook his head. He closed it again.

“No, no. Some tea will set me right.” He said, patting Sam’s hand.

“I can pour!” Dean offered. He smiled at Grace, hoping it came across warm and friendly. She still looked skeptical but moved back from the tray. Dean bounced over and leaned closer to her, blocking her line of sight to Ganem a little more. The last thing they needed was for her to notice the old guy’s magically restored sight. “How does he take his tea?” he whispered, “I don’t want to mess it up.”

Grace relaxed finally, probably putting his tension down to excitement at finding a long-lost family member. “One sugar, splash of milk.” She whispered back.

“Thank you!” Dean grinned, pouring it out.

“I’ll just take this old one away.” Grace beamed, but before she could move to take the cup Ganem had placed beside him Castiel was there, offering to her without a word. “Oh!” she startled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Cas replied. If it was a bit creepy and stiff Grace didn’t seem to notice. She smiled sweetly at him and took the cup.

“Is it alright if we stay and talk some more?” Dean tried to draw her attention back from the angel. “We’re not overstaying the visiting hours or anything?”

Grace blinked at him. “Oh of course not!” she said, reaching out and squeezing his hand. “You take all the time you need. I was just being nosey, that’s all. Wanted to make sure everything was going well. If you boys need anything you just press that call button by the door, alright?”

“Thank you so much, Grace.” Sam was practically twinkling at her he was smiling so bright.

“Of course. You enjoy yourselves.” She vanished and Dean locked the door behind her. Ganem breathed a sigh of relief and looked up.

“Well.” He shook himself. “Where were we?”

“You were saying our grandfather burned up his soul to trap this demon?” Sam offered. He didn’t look much more than vaguely impressed. Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about the idea.

“Very nearly.” Ganem agreed. He folded his hands in his lap, ignoring the tea Dean placed on the table beside him. “He poured more of himself into sealing that spell than I would have thought possible, tied himself around her like a string. He was very strong.”

“Winchester souls generally are.” Cas commented. Dean winced but refused to acknowledge the angel’s tiny smile.

“So he lived?” Sam asked. The old man nodded.

“If he survived then where did he go?” Dean demanded.

Ganem scratched at his moustache. “The reliquary could contain Abaddon, but it could not mask her aura entirely. Even with Henry’s soul enveloping her it would act as a beacon, drawing every witch and demon on the continent to her. If they were to break her free we wouldn’t have another chance to capture her. Henry knew that I would not be able to carry out the next part of our protocol, and took it upon himself to complete the capture.”

“How?” Sam asked. He replaced the gun in the drawer but Dean saw him slip one of the bullets into the pocket of his coat. Probably not a bad idea to keep hold of one or two so they could replicate them, Dean thought. They could solve the problem of working to track a demon for weeks only to have them smoke out before you could corner them into a carefully laid devil’s trap. Dean popped his in his pocket, too.

“He had to take her somewhere Demons couldn’t follow.” Ganem murmured, his gaze shifting to Castiel. There was still a tinge of awe as he took in the boring trench coat and permanently skewed tie.

“Heaven?” Dean asked. That didn’t make sense. How would the host not spot someone sneaking a hell-bomb into their home base?

“No.” Ganem confirmed. “We were trying to make contact with an angel, to set up a path for her disposal, when she attacked us. We never managed it.”

“So where did he go?” asked Sam.

“There are places,” Ganem swallowed, his voice cracking. Dean wondered the last time he’d said any of this out loud, even to himself. “There are places outside time.Created by magic, or disaster, or just random chance.”

“Like pocket dimensions?” Sam asked, his nerdface on full blast.

Ganem smiled. “An apt description. Once you get into one it’s nearly impossible to find your way out again, which in this case was part of the point, really.”

“So that was the end game?” Dean asked. “Trap her and jump into an inescapable prison?”

Sam snorted. “Guess I take after my grandfather in more than just looks.” He joked. Dean clenched his teeth against the urge to vomit.

Ganem sighed. “It was never meant to be, but we ran out of options.”

“That’s generally how it goes, yeah.” Sam chuckled. Cas moved fractionally closer to Dean, who shoved his fists in his pockets to stop himself from randomly punching things.

“We knew the only real way to dispose of her was to have her purged by an archangel, or to somehow take her to Cocytus.”

Before Dean could ask what on earth that was Cas murmured, “The frozen lake of Hell.”

“If we could lay the amulet on it’s surface she would be trapped there forever. Failing that, we could only get her as far out of reach to any of her followers as possible. The rest would have to wait until the order rebuilt itself enough to retrieve the reliquary from Henry.” He touched the ring on his pinkie again, gnarled hands trying to tug it off over an arthritic knuckle. He wrenched it free and held it out for Dean to see. “This is the symbol of the Men of Letters. The star of Solomon.”

“We’ve seen it.” Dean growled.

“Where?”

“Found your clubhouse.” Dean explained. “Outside Carthage. Didn’t look like there’d been any great battle there.”

Ganem huffed. “You think that is the repository for all the knowledge we gathered over hundreds of years?”

“It’s not?” said Sam.

“Gabriel said it was an outpost.” Cas reminded them.

“It was. A safe-house for agents in the field.” Ganem said. “We had hundreds across the country.”

“And this?” Dean asked, producing the list of names they’d uncovered.

Ganem peered at it for a moment. “A log. To show who had used the resources there. If you broke the concealment you already know you’re a true legacy.”

“That place was covered in Dean’s name.” Cas said, suspicion clear in his tone. “Why?”

Ganem slumped. “Were there no other names?” he asked.

Cas shook his head. “Only Dean.”

The old man sighed, fiddling with the controls of his wheelchair. “No wonder no one has come. I had hoped there were other survivors, that someone else had managed…” he shuddered. When he looked back up a heavy sadness hand settled over his face. “If it was only Dean’s name woven into the wards it means he is the only surviving legacy. The Order of the Men of Letters ends with him.”

“What?” Dean balked. Hadn’t he been the center of enough shitstorms to last a lifetime by now? And besides, he wasn’t the only surviving Winchester. Not anymore. “What about Sammy?”

Ganem stared hard at the younger Winchester, his eyebrows knotting and bunching. “I don’t know. What happened to you?” He asked it with the same kind of curiosity Sam usually reserved for particularly irrelevant lore. “You’re… not right.”

“I don’t have a soul.” Sam drawled.

Ganem blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

“Our dad was a hunter,” Sam explained casually, “But he didn’t come into the life until he was older. A demon killed our mother. It was all part of some big nefarious plan to end the world. Turns out I am the vessel of Lucifer and Dean is Michael’s and we were supposed to star in the apocalypse.”

Ganem frowned but nodded, not nearly as shocked as Dean would have expected. “You just going to give him our life story?” Dean asked, slapping Sam’s shoulder. They were supposed to be getting information, not handing it out.

Sam shrugged, undisturbed. “If he’s been paying attention these last few years he can’t have missed the signs. I figure he’s more likely to trust the guys that averted the apocalypse than two random hunters. Even if we are his friend’s grandsons.”

“So that was you?” Ganem said, rubbing his knuckles thoughtfully. “You,” he pointed one boney finger at Dean. “You’ve seen Hell.”

Dean scowled. Could the old dude smell it on him or something? “And?”

“And survived it?”

Dean gave an ugly snort. “Not sure I’d use that phrasing exactly. But Cas here pulled me out. After I’d already started up the END, but, you know.” Dean decided to ignore the brief flash of pain on Cas’s face. He could apologize later for rubbing at sore spots.

“And you?” Ganem asked Sam.

“No soul.” Sam replied all chipper, like it was no big thing. Just an empty Sambot, strolling around. Casual. “Lucifer kind of kept hold of that when we sent him back to the cage, apparently.” Sam explained. “That’s why I probably seem pretty sinister to you, hu?”

Ganem nodded. That would explain his immediate assumption that they were there to kill him. If he had somehow sensed Sam’s wrongness, his lack of soul, that was probably a giant red flag to a guy who’d been running from a mega-demon for sixty-odd years. “I’ve never seen a living person separated from their soul before.” Ganem said. “I’m surprised you survived it.”

“I had a little help.” Sam smiled. Dean clenched his teeth so hard they squeaked.

“Well, not having a soul would certainly disqualify you from inheriting a seat in the Men of Letter’s society.” Said Ganem.

“Why do we care about any of this?” Dean demanded.

Ganem paled. “Because you have to finish it!” he said, like it was obvious.

“Finish what?” growled Dean.

“You have to take Abaddon to the lake,” Ganem insisted, “you have to bind her back in Hell so that she can never escape!”

Dean made an indelicate noise. “Buddy, we already got problems with Hell. We’re trying to stop Lucifer popping the lock on his cage again, or a crazy archangel doing it for him. We don’t have time to deal with his MVP, too.”

“But you must!” Ganem cried, his voice cracking. “She cannot be allowed to remain on earth. If a demon were to find a way to free her - and they’ve been trying since we sealed her up - she could very conceivably break Lucifer’s chains herself!”

Of freaking course she could. Because that was the way it went. It didn’t rain, it fucking poured. Dean cast a desperate look at Cas, begging him to disagree, but the angel just looked thoughtful.

“A knight of hell would certainly be fuel for Raphael’s agenda.” Cas murmured.

“How so?” Sam asked.

“It’s possible he would try to use her as a stand-in for Lucifer and play the role of Michael himself.” Castiel frowned. “Though I do find it more likely he would use her as a conduit into Hell to break open the cage, as he says.” He gestured to Larry.

“If she knows a way out he can use it as a way in.” Sam reasoned.

“Exactly.” Cas nodded. Dean dropped his forehead into his palm, smoothing out the lines that never seemed to go away anymore and cursing silently to himself. _Sure_ , he thought. _Just add it to the pile_. Knight of Hell. Why not? “Either way” Cas continued, “if Raphael learned there was a knight of hell on earth currently he would do almost anything to get his hands on her, I’ve no doubt.”

Ganem rolled forward an inch or two. “She _cannot_ be allowed to return.” He urged. “You have to find Henry and take the reliquary to Cocytus.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Sam asked. Dean shot him a glare.

“We’ve got enough shit on our plates, dude!” he reminded him.

“Dean, this is a big deal.” Sam snipped, looking just as pissy as he ever had. “Priority number one is helping Castiel stop Raphael from rebooting the end. Now that we know I didn’t bust out we’ve got to make sure no one else is trying to bust in. If Abaddon is fodder for Raphael’s insanity we’ve got to neutralize her.”

“He’s right, Dean.” Cas said. Ganem gazed at them with liquid hope in his eyes.

Dean dropped to the edge of the bed, exhausted. “Of course.” He sighed.


End file.
